


Blood and Bond

by Saetha



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Dunland, Dunlendings - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Nonbinary Dwarves, Rohirrim, Slow Build, The only thing worse than middle-aged Thorin's temper is young Thorin's temper, and worry, ch44 now accidentally contains a handjob sry no idea how that happened, female rangers, he's so full of anger, idk just 30 years of dwarf lives basically ahahha, so many Durin family feels oh dear, transgender dwarves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-17 10:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 52
Words: 168,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1384585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything changed the day the dragon came. Though many things get destroyed, the ties of friendship and family are not so easily broken. </p><p>This story follows the various members of the Line of Durin from the day on that Smaug attacked Erebor to the years of their first exile in Dunland.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go! Brought to you in cooperation with the lovely [Ivana](http://theheirsofdurin.tumblr.com/) who provided both wonderful headcanon discussions, ideas and beta reading (and who I will never be able to thank enough), this first chapter deals with the immediate aftermath of Smaug's attack. I try to stick to book canon as much as I can, but I did take the liberty of adjusting the ages of some of the characters, especially Fundin's sons. And also the fact that Thorin wasn't hunting when Smaug attacked. Enjoy :).

The taste of ash and fire was on his tongue. It had sat there for seemingly endless hours already, hours in which he had watched the chaos around him unfold and slowly devour the world he had known since birth.

The dragon had come over them like a force of nature, spreading destruction in its wake without any regard as to those that tried to oppose him. He had desired only death and gold and collected plentiful of both. When Thorin closed his eyes he could still see its great claws, ripping grooves in the carefully carved stone of Erebor's halls, its red wings and golden eyes filled with nothing but greed and malice. He knew that the screams of the burning and the crunching of bone of those crushed beneath the dragon's feet would never fully leave his thoughts.

The once green plains around the mountain were now scorched and burnt black. Dwarves were scattered as far as he could see, some of them unmoving on the ground, others weeping quietly arm in arm with their families or friends and many stumbling around, eyes wide with shock. The air was filled with anguished cries, the wailing of children and the shouting of those still looking for family and friends. Like an invisible blanket a stench was hovering over all of them - it stank of fire and ash, burned clothing, flesh and death.

Thorin could feel the bile rising up in the back of his throat as the images of the morning were flooding back into his mind, triggered by the smell and sight of limp bodies. To will them back into the darkest corners of his memory cost almost more strength than he had. Those weren't nameless dwarves from old legends or stories - those were friends, dwarves he knew. To him as a member of the royal family they were _his people_.

A hand on his arm ripped him out of those thoughts. Frerin's fingers were gentle but firm, the gaze from his tired eyes speaking of worry. Dís was curled up at this side, whimpering quietly in her uneasy sleep with eyes red and swollen from crying. Thorin forced the images back, tried to concentrate on his siblings, on offering them what little comfort he could give.

 _Stay here with Frerin and Dís_ , his father had told him, not heeding his feeble protests. _I will go with your grandfather and rally what people I can_.

Thorin had struggled, torn between the desire to help, to search for those still missing and to protect his younger siblings. And although Thráin hadn't said anything, his eye full of concern had quietly added: _And I will search for your mother as well_.

Now there was nothing else he could do but wait, although some part inside his mind was still screaming at him to get up, to find those he still hadn't heard of yet. His mother, Dwalin, Balin, young Óin, their families...

He embraced Frerin, drew him closer until blond hair was spilling over his back and his brother's head was leaning on his shoulder. Thorin would never forget the ice-cold ball of fear lodged in his heart when he had run out of the mountain with his father and grandfather and not been able to find the rest of his family. Where was his mother? Where his siblings? The thought of them being dead had turned his heart to stone and so he had spent hours roaming the fields around the mountain, shouting their names, asking anybody not too caught up in their own shock whether they had any news of the royal family.

The relief flooding his heart when he had finally heard their voices had almost turned him dizzy for a moment. They had been cowering on the ground, Dís crying and Frerin helplessly trying to comfort her, barely willing back his own tears. His brother had been the first to see him and with a cry of 'Nadad!' on his lips he had almost tackled Thorin to the ground in his urge to embrace him. Thorin had barely bothered to hide his own tears when he had both of his siblings in his arms, his hands stroking their hair and marvelling at the fact that they were next to him, alive and breathing. Even Dís had stopped her crying and calls for their mother for a bit. Their baby sister was still so small, her trembling little shoulders fitting effortlessly in Thorin's hands as he softly patted her back and murmured comforting words.

It was only an hour until nightfall when Thrór and Thráin returned. Both of them were weary, exhaustion and hunger emphasising the deep lines in their faces. Thorin could see in his father's eye that he hadn't been able to find his wife. The ring of fear around his throat constricted and suddenly made it harder for him to breathe. He tried to calm down, told himself over and over again that surely she was fine, she was just on the other side of the mountain and they would find her tomorrow.

His grandfather, on the other hand, was still strangely detached as he had been since Thorin had dragged him away from his gold to save his life. He felt a stab in his chest when he thought about the endless hours Thrór had spent in the big vaults of Erebor, entranced by nothing but his vast treasure. _The madness has overtaken him,_ he had heard people whispering. _The gold sickness has taken hold of his heart_. And there was nothing that he could've chosen to reply for the signs had been too plain.

It was obvious that Thráin was the one subtly steering his father's will to make the right decisions. Thorin knew how it must pain his father to do so; but their people needed firm guidance in this darkest of hours.

Now the king's son had worry etched all over his face as he looked over his own children to the slumped down figures of dwarves all around them. The last light of the day almost seemed set the bare rock on fire once again.

"We tried to collect as many as we could and told them to spread word that we would make camp tonight at the edge of the little forest to the east. We need to stay together and pool what little resources we have left." Unspoken but nonetheless part of his words was the hope that this way they might also find out about the fates of those still missing and not confirmed dead.

Thorin just nodded and, with a sigh, hoisted himself upright. He gently nudged Frerin and picked up Dís on his arm who had fallen asleep not much earlier, hungry and exhausted. With her ten years she was still barely more than a small child, her head now drooping on his shoulder as she shuffled closer to him.

Together the royal family made their way to meeting place Thráin had indicated earlier. On their way they were joined by most of the dwarves they passed; word had gotten around of what the king had ordered and seeing most of their leader's family safe and whole gave many a dwarf at least some measure of strength.

Thorin's thoughts were wandering as he looked into all the pained faces they passed, complexions gray as ash from the loss of lives and home. His mind was tricked into seeing the faces of those he was looking for and more than once he thought he had caught a glimpse of Dwalin's unruly shock of hair or heard Balin's characteristic chuckle. He feared for the brothers, feared for the one who had always been his mentor and the other who had proved himself the closest and most loyal of all companions.

Some of the fleeing dwarves must have been carrying flint with them since the presence of fires quickly conjured from the dry wood of the brushes littering the area greeted them. Its sight reminded Thorin that likely none of them had eaten since breakfast and with a sinking feeling in his stomach he realised that this situation wasn't likely to change soon, for most of the animals had fled from the dragon's wrath and nowhere close would there be enough food growing to feed an entire kingdom's worth of dwarves.

Asking Men for help wouldn't do either - Dale was burning and up in flames and the Laketowners would likely be more than busy with their own kin instead of helping the dwarves. And the elves...rage, red and dangerous, flooded Thorin's mind when he thought about the great Elven host that had been close enough to help yet just turned away from their desperate pleading. He almost wished the dragon would come out of the mountain once again and burn the arrogant king and his entire folk down to nothing but tinder and smoking bones.

Frerin let out a yelp and Thorin realised belatedly that in his anger he had almost crushed his younger brother's hand. He threw him an apologetic smile as he forced his temper back down. A fit of rage would help nobody right now.

"THORIN!"

The deep-throated bellow was unmistakable and for a second Thorin felt his knees sag in relief. Only a few moments later he was pulled in an almost bone-crushing hug before Dwalin noticed Dís' sleeping shape on his arm.

"I thought we'd lost you and the little ones!"

The light of happiness in Dwalin's eyes as he looked over all three of them was almost tangible and only rivalled by Balin's relieved sigh. Thorin couldn't stop looking at them, thanking Mahal over and over again for keeping them alive. The two brothers urged Thorin and his family to join their distant relatives at the fire. Another weight was taken of his chest when he saw the others gathered around the fire - the brother's parents, Fundin and Varna, their uncle Gróin with his wife and young lad Óin and even their old grandfather Farin, all of who were blessedly alive and mostly unharmed.

After sitting down an almost eerie silence settled over their little group. None of them dared to ask about their friends or other kin for fear of hearing the confirmation that they were dead. The quietness was only broken when Thráin slowly started talking to his father who had been staring at the bright golden flames of the fire. Thorin had half a mind of joining them in their quietly whispered words, but a glance from his father's eyes rid him quickly of the motion. He felt anger rise inside him, being rebuked like a child that had no say in the kingdom's affairs despite being its heir.

 _But there isn't a kingdom anymore_ , a voice in his head started whispering. _Dragon fire and burnt stone, that's all there is. You are heir to a hollow, soon-to-be forgotten throne over an exiled folk_.

A faint grumble brought him to his feet, temporarily extinguishing the poisonous words in his head. The ground to their feet shook gently, resonating with a rumble that seemingly had its origin within the Lonely Mountain itself. Cries rose up from the families around them and Thorin found himself wishing for one desperate moment that all of this was just a nightmare, that he would wake up the next morning in the safe halls of Erebor and find it had all been a terrible dream.

There was the faint smell of fire in the air and families instinctively huddled closer together in their fear. Dís had woken up again and Frerin held her close, trying to stifle her sobs as he softly kissed her on the head and rubbed her back, speaking to her in a low, soft voice. The rumble came again, this time more strongly, bringing with it a waft of ash and smoke from the mountain.

Thorin felt panic creeping up inside him. The all-too familiar scents and sounds triggered memories too strong to be subdued. He was once again standing in the great Hall of Erebor, a host of armed dwarves at his back, ready to defeat the beast making its way to them in terrible wrath and greed. Seconds later there was only chaos unfolding around him. The stink of burnt flesh and blood was filling his nose and the screams of the dying his ears. Stone came crashing down, bodies were broken and ripped apart under terrible claws. Death, death, death was all around him, filled every fibre of his senses, sat in his head like a terrible nightmare devouring all images of reality.

"Thorin?" Frerin's voice sounded slightly panicked. A hand reached up to touch him, his own breath heavy in his ear, shivers running down his body and never stopping.

"I'm fine." His voice almost betrayed him, words coming out sluggish and tangled. "I'll just...I'll be back in a moment."

Nearly blind he stumbled away from the fire, his vision still in the grip of the terrible images. His mind had now started mixing reality with his own fears, showing him breaking eyes of deep blue, bloodied fingers clutching heavy axes even in death, broken bones protruding from skin. Black hair was suddenly transforming to dark gold, brown eyes to green and he found himself reaching out for his mother, a scream on his lips as the flames engulfed her and left nothing but ash.

Thorin leaned against a tree and retched up what little was left in his stomach. His fingers were digging into the rough bark and the pain shooting through them provided him with a feeble hold on reality he so desperately needed. His head still swimming, he sank down on his knees as the full extent of the recent events hit him.

He was so intent on keeping his mind together and not slipping back into the fuel of his nightmares that he didn't hear the footsteps coming up behind him. Dwalin didn't say anything, only held out a flask of water that Thorin took in silent gratitude and shame. The cold water should have served to clear his head, but the visions were still not leaving him. Not trusting his shaking body to hold him upright Thorin remained crouched down, unable to look his companion in the eye for embarrassment and fear he would only see disgust at his weakness there.

The movement with which Dwalin placed his hand on his shoulder was hesitant, as if he was afraid to get burnt by the fire in Thorin's thoughts. The young dwarf almost flinched away, but the touch was gentle and firm. Slowly, Dwalin used his hands to start pulling him upright again. Fingers now locked around his wrists, he searched for Thorin's gaze until he had caught it, bringing their foreheads together.

"Breathe, Thorin." His voice was barely more than a gruff whisper. "It's over. Come back."

_Come back._

Dwalin's words lodged himself deeply in his brain, provided an anchor to hold onto, just like the steady look from his grey eyes.

He listened to sound of his own breath, how the air was streaming in and out of his lungs. Slowly, he felt the visions slip away from his grasp, peeling off his mind like egg shell to leave only the soft fabric of reality behind. Without a word, he took the flask of water and washed his face, thankful he'd had the mind to bend over and not soil his clothes. The image of his mother burning to death in the flames was still bright in his mind, but he told himself firmly that it was nothing more than a fantasy. They would find her.

Others, however, he had seen die with his own eyes, knowing for sure they would never come back again, gone forever to wait for them in the Halls of their Maker. He hoped that their souls would find their way there even without the proper burials they were no longer able to give them. Grief enveloped him like a cloak when he thought of all the families who would never have a proper place to mourn, of lives ripped apart and happiness destroyed. It was the first time he truly glimpsed the weight of what it meant to be a king - not only caring for his people, but also feeling, making their hurts his own.

"Dwalin, do you have your knife on you?"

He knew that his friend rarely walked around without it. The tall dwarf nodded, slight puzzlement lighting up his features.

"Give it to me."

A spark of worry flickered in Dwalin's eyes, but Thorin had caught himself again and was now every inch an heir of Durin's line. With a careful movement he drew his small blade and offered it to him, hilt first.

Thorin stilled the trembling in his fingers before he took the knife and brought it up to his chin. The blade was sharp and it only took a few movements to complete its task. Dwalin's eyes widened when the dark braid of his beard fell to the ground. A symbol for all the lives that had been lost, for the suffering behind and likely in front of them. A sign for the great harm his people had suffered, plain to see for every dwarf. Dwalin almost didn't notice when he offered him the knife to take back, awe and sadness over what Thorin had just done struggling in his mind with equal force.

They made their way back to the fire where the others were waiting. A horrified gasp rose from the throats of both families when they saw what Thorin had done. His father opened his mouth, likely to rebuke him for his deed.

"Thorin, how dare you-" Somebody screamed in the distance, cutting off the prince's words. The orange glow of flames lightened up the night sky and a great roar rolled over the plains. Thorin could feel the blood in his veins turn to ice. He knew the sound.

"The dragon!" he could hear somebody shouting. "The dragon's coming back!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is number two! The journey to the Iron Hills commences. I put some desperately needed fluff in there at the end - writing it gave me an unexpected load of Thrór feels. Oops. I also think that young Thorin doesn't have all the restraint and walls around his emotions yet that he acquires in later years. It's great fun to write him so full of anger :> .

Chaos broke out around them. People were frantically trying to extinguish their fires and seek shelter beneath the bushes and trees so that they wouldn't get spotted by the dragon. The roar rolled over the plains again, like thunder on a warm summer night. Thorin shivered and it had nothing to do with the cold encroaching on their makeshift camp. His head was about to throw him back into the terrible sensations from earlier, but at the last moment he remembered Dwalin's words.

_Breathe._

He grabbed Frerin's shoulder and hoisted Dís up on his arm. His little sister had woken up from all the mayhem around her and pressed closely to him, her eyes wide in shock and fear. A sudden gust of wind, undoubtedly from the dragon's great wings, almost brought him down to his knees. His eyes were frantically searching for cover, but he suddenly realised that hiding beneath branches would do them no good - there were too many of them to vanish from sight and it would be no protection against the dragon's terrible flames. There was only one solution.

"RUN!" he shouted at those with him. _And stay together_.

Dís shrieked when a dark shadow passed over them. Seconds later the beginning night was lit up by a wave of flames from the dragon's mouth, setting large patches of forest on fire. It was Balin who guessed the beast's terrible purpose first.

"Run deeper into the forest!" he bellowed.

Thorin turned back to see why - and instantly knew that he would never forget the sight he could glimpse through the trees, the red of dusk reflected in the creature's scales and the blood on the ground. The dragon's flames had served to draw many dwarves out on the plains, just as men often used fire to dictate an animal's direction of flight in panic.

The dragon was hunting.

And he found plenty of prey.

The sight burnt itself into Thorin's mind and just as before he knew he would never be able to forget. Burning and bleeding, pleading for help whilst being crushed and ripped apart they were, and yet no salvation would come to them, only death.

Somebody close to him was screaming and it took Thorin a moment to recognise his own voice ringing in his ears. His hand pressed Dís' head deep into the folds of his clothing so she wouldn't see the carnage wrought on their people. Frerin was still standing next to him, face distorted in shock.

It was Dwalin who finally grabbed his arm and hauled him forward, away from the slaughter. He had been sensible enough not so waste any precious time looking behind him. Thorin had just enough mind left to follow on his feet, conscious not drop their little sister. Frerin was running along next to him. He prayed that Mahal would grant them sure footing on the uneven forest floor in the beginning darkness.

He lost every feeling for time as they were fleeing, but slowly, the screams behind their backs were fading as they put more and more distance between themselves and the dragon. Frerin was stumbling over his own feet, barely able to find the strength to go on and Thorin felt his own tiredness and exhaustion lodged deeply in his bones.

They only stopped when the only noise resounding in his ears was that of his own breath and he was no longer able to hear the sounds of death behind him. The last rays of sunlight had long disappeared and darkness was enveloping them. Thorin could make out no more than mere shapes around him.

"Dwalin?"

"Here." The answer came from his right side.

Thorin could hear other voices there as well. It sounded like their loose family group had somehow managed to stay together. None of them had grabbed torches when they had fled for fear of drawing the dragon's sight onto them, but evidently Varna had been one of those with flint stone in her pockets when she had left the mountain.

Her quick fingers managed to conjure a little flame not soon after, although they kept the fire small in order not to be seen by the huge beast should it come their way. But they were in desperate need for the warmth since the nights were slowly getting colder so close to Durin's Day. They could only hope that the monster had satiated its bloodlust sufficiently this evening and was not going to hunt them.

Thorin curled up on the ground, Dís tucked in securely between him and Frerin. He hoped that their combined warmth would be enough to keep their little sister alive throughout the night. Her breathing had slowed down and was now deep and regular again. Though waves of exhaustion were lapping through Thorin's body and against his thoughts, he found that he was almost unable to sleep at first. At every noise his body tensed up, ready to leap up and start running again. Only when his eye lids grew so heavy that it was impossible to keep them up, he hesitantly allowed his body the rest it so desperately needed. But even then screams and death followed him into his dreams.

*

If they had thought that the new light of day would colour their situation more optimistic, they were mistaken. The morning brought nothing but low grey clouds and the promise of rain. However, the increased humidity didn't serve to hold off the dragon as some of them had quietly hoped. They moved cautiously, hiding under the cover of trees and bushes to avoid being seen by the beast. Though his father had rebuked him heavily in the morning, Thorin was quietly grateful for having cut off his beard the night before - not only because of the symbolism of the gesture, but also because of simple necessity. At least he didn't have to pick the branches and leaves out of his beard every night. Keeping it out of his hair was enough work if he cared enough to do so.

After yesterday's attack both Thrór and Thráin had agreed that it would be of no use to turn back and round up the rest of their folk. They had to get to safety and trust the other groups to do the same. The decision to seek refuge with Grór's Folk at the Iron Hills was quickly made; it was the closest of all the remaining dwarf kingdoms and as such the most likely destination for others. There they would be able to regroup, care for their youngest and oldest before deciding on the fate of what remained of Erebor's people.

The Iron Hills were a good five days walk for a traveller fast on foot, but it was clear that they would take at least twice the time if not longer. Without proper clothing or supplies and in the company of so many too young, old or injured to survive the journey without help they would be hard pressed alone to get there alive.

There had been no sign of their mother, but Thorin still refused to believe her dead. Images of her dying in a hundred different ways were haunting him day and night, dripping through his mind and poisoning his thoughts. He kept telling Frerin and Dís that they would find her again once they had reached the Iron Hills. Maybe he would believe it himself if he only told them often enough.

Thorin closed his eyes for a moment as they were once again crouching low beneath the cover of a few bushes, trying to calm the boiling rage inside him that was slowly rising from the shock and desperation of the past hours. Frerin and Dís were always at his side whilst his father was supporting his grandfather. King Thrór was either hunched up in lethargy or wildly demanding that they let him go back to the mountain, back to his treasure. More than once it took the combined force of Thráin, Thorin and Dwalin to restrain their king from running directly into the dragon's mouth.

Farin's family always moved together, as if none of them could bear too lose sight of each other again. Him, his two sons, their wives and children clustered together, the youngest of their family securely tucked in the middle and supported by helpful hands where it was necessary.

Thorin could see them hiding under a larger tree not far from his own position as another sudden gust of wind swept over them. It could have been just the signs of an upcoming storm - or that of a red dragon, born through the air by his great wings and forever hunting. He drew Dís even closer to him, his other hand resting on Frerin's shoulder.

He hated the hiding, hated the fear surging through his body every time they ducked beneath branches, praying the great beast wouldn't smell or see them. And the hate only served to fire up the flames of anger inside his stomach.

They waited for another while after the last blast of wind before they finally dared to come out in the open again. The trees and bushes had become much sparser now. Moving from cover to cover slowed down their trip even more.

Thorin said as much to his father when they had scrambled out from their respective hiding places.

"We can't go on like this!" he shouted.

Thráin lifted his eyebrows.

"And what do you suppose we should do?"

"Walk!" Thorin bellowed, not heeding the warning signs and shocked glances Balin was sending in his direction. "The longer we spend hiding here, the more time the dragon will have to find and kill us!"

"Oh yes? So that the beast sees us and burns us down to ash and smoke?" His father's voice had become dangerously quiet now. Even Thrór seemed to have been ripped out of his lethargy and was watching his heirs intently.

"Better to die in dragon's fire than starve on the road because we didn't make it to the Iron Hills in time!" Thorin was shouting by now, his entire fury at the desperation and helplessness of their situation unloading in a single thunderstorm.

Thráin's eyes were blazing as he drew himself up. Suddenly he wasn't just his father anymore; he was Thrór's heir, prince of Erebor and a future king of Durin's line.

"How dare you." His whisper slowly grew into a storm. "How DARE you say that. How DARE you belittle those who lost their lives in the inferno and put their efforts to shame!"

The silence following his words grew until it seemed to have devoured every emotion. The only sound was a quiet sobbing from Dís that soon grew into loud wailing. She had never before witnessed her own family so viciously loud and angry with each other. Frerin gently untangled Thorin's hand from hers and took her into his own arms, all the while murmuring soothing words into her ear.

The rage left Thorin as quickly as it had come and there was nothing but stony emptiness in its wake. He couldn't face the worried glances of the others, so he closed his eyes and clenched his fist so hard his nails left deep groves in his skin. _Breathe_ , he reminded himself. His next words were possibly the most difficult ones he had ever said.

"I apologize," he nodded formally to his father and grandfather. "My comment was out of place. Please forgive my insolence." The rules of court he had always hated so much now served to hold him together.

The ice in his Thráin's eye slowly melted away as he let his gaze wander over the shape of his oldest son, finding there much of his own youthful temper.

"Your apology has been accepted."

They continued their way east in almost total silence, only broken by the most necessary communication. It wasn't until the evening, when they were all hunched over a fire just large enough to provide them with the barest necessity of warmth but hidden away under the crown of a mighty oak tree, that Dís dared to approach her brother again.

She crept up to Thorin, stopping tentatively about a hand's width short of touching him. He had refused most of his part of the meagre meal they had managed to scrape up for themselves and instead slipped the vast share of his portion to his siblings unseen, not heeding Frerin's quiet protests. Dís' eyes were wide, still shocked by the plain display of rage from earlier. Her brother had been angry before; but never had his voice been tinged with such desperation and viciousness.

Thorin forced himself to smile as he looked at her.

"I'm sorry." he whispered quietly. "I didn't mean to scare you."

His sister scrambled closer, climbing up into his lap. Throughout the day she would often stick with Frerin or whoever it was that was carrying her, but in the evening she always curled up in his arms, unable to fall asleep otherwise. Thorin would've never admitted it, but he, too, was only able to find rest with Frerin and Dís within arm's reach, lest the worry would keep him awake all night.

With a quiet sigh he closed his arms around his sister, gently stroking her thin shoulders to soothe her into sleep. Dís had just closed her eyes when there was the sound of branches breaking in their vicinity. Within seconds, all members of the two families were on their feet, swords drawn and eyes unsuccessfully trying to pierce the darkness. Even Thrór seemed to be alert.

"Who's there?" Dwalin and Thráin called out at almost exactly the same moment.

"Dwalin?" The voice answering them sounded almost giddy with relief. Only a few seconds later three ragged figures stumbled out of the shrubbery and all of them lowered their swords as if on command.

"Dori?!" It was Balin who recognised them first and with a smile, he stepped forward to pat him on the shoulder.

"And your lady mother, too!" Balin's smile grew wider as he beheld her figure stepping into the light of their meagre fire. Hulda's eyes were heavy with exhaustion and nobody needed to ask after her husband, Dori's father. The grief etched deep into the lines of her face was answer enough.

There was a third dwarf, though, who scrambled out of the brushes on their heels and this time it was Thrór who exclaimed his name first.

"Nár!"

"My king." The old dwarf sounded exhausted, but his voice was brimming with gladness at the sight of his leader. Nár, though never much of a warrior, had always been Thrór's most trusted adviser. A bit of the mighty dwarf who he had been before the beginnings of his madness and the loss of his treasure seemed to return when the king's eyes fell on his old friend.

Dori seemed to be pleased about the entrance they had made. Stepping closer to the fire, he rubbed his hands to warm them over the flames.

"We saw the light of the fire and heard your voices, so we resolved to see for ourselves if we had found the members of our folk we've been looking for all along." he confessed.

They had run into other groups of fleeing dwarves before but never truly stayed together though they shared a common aim. A large group was much more likely to be detected by the dragon should the beast make its way east. But the two families were more than willing to take the three dwarves that had sought them into their circle. Likewise Hulda, Dori and Nár seemed to be more than glad to share the warmth of their little fire.

Nár, Thrór and Thráin were soon involved in a quiet conversation. Thorin felt faint anger stirring inside him once again at being excluded from their council, but he was simply too exhausted for an argument. Hulda, her son and most of Fundin's family had already stretched out on the hard ground, the constant wariness of the day and little food slowly starting to take their toll. Thorin and Frerin soon followed their example and sleep found them huddled up into a single pile.  

*

It was Durin's Day three days later.

Farin reminded them first. Thorin had all but forgotten about the most important day of the year although the mountain had been bristling with activity for the celebrations for weeks before the dragon had come. Together with their home, however, all thoughts of it had gone up in flames, replaced by their much more imminent need for survival.

The days were almost monotonous in their repeating pattern of fear, anger and the constant struggle for survival. Twice more had the memories of the dragon's attack almost overwhelmed Thorin, but every time Dwalin and later Frerin had been there, pulling him back into reality, begging him to focus on the living rather than the dead.

On the morning of Durin's Day Farin quietly began to intonate the solemn prayer that was the traditional way of beginning the day. Thorin felt impatience rise up inside him and had almost started pleading to get moving again, but one look at the others throttled the words on his tongue. Nár had closed his eyes and was muttering along with Farin's words and after a moment, more and more of their group joined in. It was just a simple prayer, asking their Maker for good fortune in the next year and health of their families and friends. Somehow, however, the phrases crept deep under their skin; never had they seemed more relevant than at this moment. Even Dís stood still, her lips silently forming the sounds of the words. Her hand in Thorin's had never felt smaller.

The rest of the day they spent in almost total silence, although somehow closer together in their hearts than they had ever been. Erebor seemed already more than a lifetime away; Thorin was barely able to conjure up thoughts of what the day would've been like if the dragon hadn't come. The halls brimming with activity and light, the sound of laughter trickling through every crack and crevice in the stone. Feasting, singing and dancing until late in the morning. It could not have been a greater contrast to their current situation. But it seemed as if their Maker had bestowed at least some measure of luck on them on Durin's Day: around midday they found a stream of clear cold water filled with trout. Varna's skilled hands and her upbringing outside Erebor quickly proved its usefulness once more and it wasn't long until Dwalin's mother had managed to catch a sizeable amount of fish. Together with the edible roots the others had found during her hunting time it would mean that at least this evening they wouldn't go hungry.

For the night they stopped in the shadow of a rocky outcrop surrounded by a small forest from one side. They hadn't heard or seen the dragon for more than one day and so decided a larger fire and thus more warmth would be worth taking the risk. They carefully cooked the trout over their fire and in their impoverished state, the meal seemed almost as good as any feast they had ever had at home.

After they had finished eating, Frerin pulled Dís close and asked her if she'd ever heard the ballad of Hjalti and Myrna. His little sister shook her head, her eyes shining with a light that made Thorin's heart ache in joy, sadness and frustration. She should be surrounded by the splendour of Erebor right now, not sitting in the middle of a god-forsaken country without a home.

"No! Can you sing it?"

Frerin laughed. Though strained, his laugh had lost almost nothing of its brilliance that could lighten even the darkest of days.

"I can try."

Thorin's brother had never been the best of singers, but there was a raw emotion in his voice that rendered the rather merry ballad about the cocky dwarrowdam who had her One chasing throughout almost all of middle earth for her love into more than just a song. Thorin wasn't the only one who found himself humming along by the end of it. The Eve of Durin's Day was traditionally a night of songs and stories and drinking. For a moment, Thorin wished he had his harp. Dís had always been fascinated by his play.

Somehow, Frerin's song seemed to have broken the ice. Dwalin's proposition of singing one of the more ordinary tavern songs was quickly accepted with the sole condition being that he wouldn't be the one doing the singing. Thorin's mother had once remarked dryly that Dwalin would be able to clear an entire mountain range of warg riders just by singing loudly enough. Thorin had been obliged to agree. The memory forced a smile on his face whilst he was listening to Balin, Dori and Fundin putting their voices to good use.

Frerin nudged him gently into the ribs, obviously delighted to see the rarity of a smile on his face.

"You should sing too, brother!" he exclaimed. "Mother always made you sing during Durin's Day."

That it wasn't the best thing he could've said Frerin realised soon after. Dís' face, so full of joy and interest suddenly took on a crestfallen look. She didn't cry - somehow their little sister seemed to have accepted the fact that her mother wasn't with them more quickly than her brothers. But the expression on her face was one of such loss that Thorin felt his throat tighten up.

"Dís." The voice was deep and gruff. Frerin and his brother exchanged startled glances as they realised after a moment who it was.

Thrór had straightened up from his bent position, a smile on his face as he extended a hand towards the youngest member of his family. The storm of emotions his granddaughter was in seemed to effect what nothing else had been able to yet - to pull him out of the lingering shadows of madness and brooding and back into reality.

"Have I ever told you about your grandmother?"

Dís just shook her head, eyes wide. Slowly she scrambled closer to her grandfather whom she'd only very rarely known as the dwarf he had once been. With a tender gesture, he pulled her up on his lap.

"She was a great dwarrowdam, maybe the greatest of them all." His smile seemed lost, but full of happiness as his eyes looked into the past. Dís was now intently focused on him, her fingers intertwined in his mighty beard.

"She also had a mighty temper. One time your grandmother didn't agree with my view on the conditions of a trade agreement with the men from Laketown and threw an entire set of pottery at me. Left a little scar right here on my cheek. She was right, of course; she always was."

Thrór laughed and for a moment, Thorin saw his grandfather again as he had come to love him. A cheerful dwarf and a wise king, a kind and loving husband to his queen with a loud and hearty laugh that would fill their halls at the great feasts. A doting grandfather, always chuckling at his and his brother's antics, slipping them cookies under the table when their mother wasn't looking and showering his grandchildren in never ending affection.

"I wish you two had more time together. She could hold her ale better than most dwarrows and her voice was so mighty that the very root of the mountain itself was shaking when she started singing. Did you know that the first time I saw her she was practising her fighting skills with an axe? Wild and strong, like a bear in the mountains. But her touch could also be tender and she could draw beauty from the raw gems on her workbench like few others..."

His voice trailed off. For an instant, Thorin could see his grandmother in his memory, an imposing figure with strong hands and kindness in her eyes before sudden illness had taken her away. She had always cradled him in her lap and told endless stories from her life.

"Grampa?" Dís looked at the old dwarf, her face full of the innocent fascination of the very young.

"Do you think I can be like granma one day? Big and strong and beautiful..."

Thrór smiled once again, sadness and joy mingling in his eyes.

"Aye my lass, of course you can. You will be the strongest and mightiest of all dwarrowdams that have ever lived!" And with that, he lifted her up to draw her closer to him. Dís squealed in delight and buried her face in his beard and hair.

Seeing their king suddenly regain some of his earlier grandeur and kindness seemed to take a weight off all of their hearts. Soon, jests were flying back and forth between the sixteen dwarves, accompanied by bits of song and old stories. For a precious few hours they all forgot about their situation and lightened the burden on their souls by remembering better days.

Dís was the first to fall asleep, and she did so in her grandfather's arms. He passed her over to Thorin, who took his youngest sibling from his arms and propped her up in his lap. She didn't wake, but her fingers unconsciously curled around a strand of his hair as she snuggled closer to him. For a moment Thorin remembered how he had first held her, the look of happiness in his mother's face, the pride in his father's and the awe in his brother's as they all watched the tiny bundle of life in his arms.

It was late at night when they all curled up around the fire. Dís, as always, lay protected in between Thorin and Frerin, her lips drawn into a faint smile as she undoubtedly dreamed about her grandmother. Frerin had a grin on his face when he put his arm around her and for the first time since the dragon had attacked Erebor, Thorin fell asleep almost as soon as his head touched the ground.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is here! In which it's cold, hair braiding is a therapeutic task, we have some Fundin family appreciation time, Thorin punches trees and I up the angst. Enjoy :').

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains some very minor character death and angst. 
> 
> Once again thanks to the wonderful Ivana for her beta, her ideas and the never ending inspiration.

Heavy rain woke them up the next morning. It quickly extinguished the glowing embers of last night's fire and soon they were all drenched to the bone. Varna decided to try her luck again and catch some more fish before they set off on their journey, hoping that the rain would have subsided by the evening or they found sufficient cover to enable them to get another fire going.

Her hope remained unfulfilled. As the day went on, it became colder and colder, and the rain slowly turned into sleet. In the early afternoon they were all freezing. Dís soon started shivering uncontrollably and they took turns in carrying her and trying to warm her up by rubbing her arms and trying to wrap her up in as many of their own clothes as they could spare. Little Óin wasn't faring much better and soon the two youngest of their group were the focus of all the attention.

With the rest of the autumn warmth their good spirits from the previous evening dwindled as well, cold, hunger and misery once more taking their toll. Still there had been no sign of the dragon; therefore they judged it safe enough to direct their steps back towards the main road leading to the Iron Hills. During the summer it was regularly used by trade caravans, but the last one had left Erebor two weeks ago. Nobody wanted to spend Durin's Day away from their family.

Gróin and Varna had been with the travelling caravans many a time and were therefore vaguely familiar with their surroundings. Under their guidance they reached the road in the late afternoon. As they had hoped, other dwarven groups and families had decided to take the same path, now that they were seemingly safe from the dragon. _But there are so few_ , Thorin thought. _Much fewer than they had hoped to see_.

Some faces they passed were familiar to him, others not. But in every single one he could see the same sentiments lining their features that he found in his own companions. The same haunted and pained expression in their eyes, exhaustion in their movements and desperation in the lines around their mouths. His heart clenched at the evidence of loss that was so plain on many of them - partly trimmed beards, traces of tears on their cheeks, families without their mothers, fathers, children.

The following night was as unfriendly as the day had been and even colder. They had taken meagre cover under the branches of a large pine tree, but all the wood they could find was too wet and unable to catch fire. All sense of propriety lost they decided to huddle together for the night. The big dwarf pile would have looked comical on every other occasion; this night, however, there was nothing romantic or funny about their situation as they were fighting for raw survival. The sleet slowly turned to snow.

The morning brought them the sight of a white landscape and the momentary relief that all of them were still alive, if hungry and shivering from the cold. They soon saw, however, that not all had been so lucky.

It was shortly before noon when they heard the cries.

"No, sweet Mahal, no, not my son..."

"Wake up Jóni, nidoyel, please, wake up..."

A family of three - mother, father and grandmother - was perched at the side of the road, the mother desperately rocking a small bundle in her arms. The child could not have been older than three years, an infant still with barely a hint of fluff on his cheeks. His eyes were closed and it looked like he was only sleeping - but there was no movement, no lifting of its small chest and no white in the air indicating any breathing.

The old dwarrowdam seemed to be the first to realise. Uselessly stroking the child's head with her palm she started to intonate the traditional prayer that would help the lost soul to find its way back to their Maker's Halls. Thorin felt his heart clench when he heard the anguish in her voice. There would be no burial in stone for the child, no grave that could properly encase its body and prepare its soul for the passage.

There was nothing they could do, only to go on and avert their glances from the grieving family, not wishing to intrude upon their sadness. But Thorin could see the impact the sight had on all of them - how his father's eyes hardened, how Frerin and Dwalin both balled their fists so that he half expected to see blood, how there was wetness in the other's eyes and sympathy in their faces.

Thorin could feel the blood in his own veins turn to ice as he looked upon the dead child. Dwarflings were always a blessing, a reason to celebrate and all of their parents' pride. To have a life so young, so innocent, snuffed out like a candle in a gust of wind stirred up helplessness and anger in equal measure inside him. Suddenly he couldn't bear to watch any longer. The frustration was racing through his body and setting his senses alight, overwhelming his thoughts. He was losing control again.

With a quiet excuse on his lips he left the road, not heeding the scratches the branches of the roadside hedges left on his face and hands. Thorin only stopped when he was unable to see any other trace of life in the forest around him.

Then he screamed.

He was dimly aware that those he left behind on the road had probably heard it, but he was beyond caring. It was as if the scream had breached the dam he had so carefully constructed around his emotions during the last days and now allowed them to surge freely through his body.

Thorin pressed his head against the icy surface of the tree in front of him, trying to use it to anchor his thoughts and bring order to the chaos behind his eyes. He had never before felt so helpless and guilty, as if he had smothered the child in its sleep with his own two hands. With another frustrated scream, he balled his right into a fist and rammed it against the frozen tree bark, again and again. He didn't stop until the skin on his knuckles, brittle from cold, started to split, welcoming the sweet feeling of pain as both distraction and punishment.

"Thorin."

Dwalin's voice was quiet, quivering. His prince didn't appear to hear him though, his head still resting against the tree with his eyes closed, one palm placed next to it, the other hand dangling loosely at his side. He was taking deep breaths.

"THORIN."

Thorin's head snapped around, as if he had only just realised Dwalin's presence. His voice was barely more than a rasp when he replied.

"I'm fine."

Instead of giving an answer immediately, Dwalin just stepped closer, his eyes widening slightly as he saw the traces of blood on his hand.

"Thorin, you..."

"I said I'm fine!" he snapped, withdrawing his hand from Dwalin's reach as he was about to grasp it. Part of him knew that he was behaving like a spoilt child not twenty summers old, but the other, bigger one, just wanted to be left alone. It wasn't him they should pity. It wasn't him they should worry about.

It wasn't him whose small, cold body was about to be buried in the frozen soil.

Dwalin stepped back, surprised by his outburst. For a fleeting moment, Thorin felt regret about lashing out at the oldest of his friends, who, he was sure, had only come to help and to ease his own worry. But it was quickly subdued as the tall dwarf started to speak again. His voice was quiet and soothing, almost as if talking to a wounded animal.

"It's alright. There was nothing you could've done. It's not your fault. You -"

"But it's my responsibility!" Thorin bellowed. "We are the royal family, we are supposed to keep them safe! They're our _people_. It's our duty!"

Dwalin closed his eyes for a single moment, keeping himself from just grabbing his friend by the shoulders and shaking him.

"I understand."

"No you don't! You aren't an heir, you know nothing of the responsibility that is ours!" The words came tumbling out of Thorin's mouth now as they had never before, all the anguish he had carefully kept hidden away since the dragon had come for the sake of his family, his friends.

"The people we pass on the road? The people I saw burning in the dragon's fire? I look into their eyes and all I can think is that we should've done more to save them. Who knows how many more will be dead before we reach the Iron Hills? When I looked at the dead child earlier, all I could think of was 'What if it's Dís tomorrow?'. I can't bury her, Dwalin. I can't bury any of them."

Thorin's voice broke, though there were no tears in his eyes. They had been burned out of him a while ago, by dragonfire and snow.

"We won't." Beneath the usual gruff tone of Dwalin's voice lay something else. Not pity or remorse, but a quiet reassurance, steady and firm. He had never been a man of many words, but Thorin could still hear it plain as day.

_I might not understand your burden, but I can still help you carry it._

With a careful movement Dwalin scraped up some snow and used it to clean the blood off his friend's hand. This time, Thorin didn't pull back. Only after a moment he realised that he was trembling slightly, all his fury spent and leaving nothing in its wake but exhaustion and shame. He closed his eyes again.

"I'm sorry."

Thorin hadn't meant to lash out at him. Not like this. But it still felt as if the weight on his heart had become lighter by doing so and he both hated himself and was quietly grateful for it.

"It's fine." The reply was barely more than a grumble.

A silent understanding passed between them and they slowly made their way back to the road. The gazes of the others were worried, but nobody asked any questions, not even Frerin. He would've gone after him but somebody had to stay with Dís and keep her from seeing what was undoubtedly their brother about to do something stupid again. His eyes, however, clearly signalled that they would talk about it. Maybe not today, maybe not even tomorrow, but at some point they would.

*

Of course the death didn't stop. They didn't see much of it, for their part - but later, when more and more refuges slowly trickled into the spacious realm of the Iron Hills, they heard more than one tale of dwarves freezing and starving on the road. Even the few that they saw were like a spear plunged straight into Thorin's heart, forcing him to violently remind himself of Dwalin's words.

 _It's not your fault_.

He tried to keep his emotions under control, tried to not frighten his family and friends anymore with another outbreak.

They knew him better than he thought.

Dwalin always tried to stay close to the prince. Every time he saw him crack was one time too many - and it hurt more than he would admit to himself. He knew how Thorin's siblings were still looking up to him, just as the dwarves they met on the road. It gave many of them courage and hope to see all of the king's heirs still alive and as much as Dwalin's heart bled for him, he knew that especially now any show of weakness on Thorin's part would not improve people's spirits, as young as he still might be. Still, there was nothing more that he could do than simply be there for his friend, pull him back from the abyss the edge of which Thorin seemed to be stumbling along so often now.

Varna saw what her son did and was proud. She had known from early on that he would one day become a warrior; and every day he had excelled at his training since then had proven her thoughts true, so that his riding out for the first time as an exceptionally young part of the guard three years had come as no surprise to her. Seldom had she seen a calling expressing itself so plainly. Her own wildness was paired with his father's strength in him. More than once she was reminded of her own mother's scolding when she heard Fundin berate his second son for once again coming home late and covered in mud. Seeing him and the prince grow closer over the years and wreak havoc together with the younger heirs throughout Erebor filled her heart with as much joy as her own craft gave her.

Balin was in many ways the counterpart of his younger brother, his level-headed thinking and love for scripture at odds with Dwalin's rashness and fondness of all kinds of weapons. They could be seen quarrelling more often than not, but even those quarrels always spoke of the deep fondness that was between them. Dwalin would always be ready to protect his older brother in any kind of situation they might get into; Balin would use his quick wits and sharp tongue to defend him in any battle not carried out with physical weapons.

Another would have marvelled at their family's ability to deal with the tragedy which had befallen their folk. But her sons and husband had never been ones to show their sadness, desperation and anxiety as openly as they did their happiness. It was the small changes to their demeanour that spoke volumes to her - the way Fundin, who had always been able to fill their halls with stories, had barely spoken more than a few sentences since Durin's Day; how Balin, who's steps were always so full of vigour and curiosity, was now trudging along slowly next to her, eyes cast to the ground; and the way Dwalin let a quiet sigh escape with his breath as his wary eyes tried to keep a look on all their surroundings, his hand never far from his axes.

Varna knew that the others had felt the weight made of ice plunge into their stomachs as well when they had found the mourning family at the road side. She had thought of her own sons' births, the fierce feeling of protectiveness those little bundles of life in her arms had awoken. As a young dwarrowdam she had never been able to stay at one place for long, always on the move and eager to explore in both body and mind, no matter if it was far or close. The marriage to Fundin and birth of her two sons hadn't changed her fundamental love for discovery, but had taken the restlessness from her, providing her with an anchor and a home always to return to. Although she had only spent a few decades in Erebor, it had been more of a home to her than any other place she had lived in before and her heart grieved for its loss as it grieved for all the lives that had vanished and still would in the aftermath of the dragon's attack. How much worse it had to be for her husband, his relatives and their children who had all spent most or all of their lives sheltered by the walls of the Lonely Mountain, she could barely grasp.

Little Óin never strayed far from his parents, their reassuring touch soothing away his nightmares just as Hulda's did Dori's. Farin was usually silent, apart from a muttered prayer here or words of encouragement to his sons and grandchildren there. The royal family, though travelling with them, always seemed distant, especially the king and his son. Only Nár truly seemed to be able to bridge the gap to Thrór, always at his side like a shadow.

Varna had done the journey to the Iron Hills before, but never under such circumstances. After Durin's Day she estimated that it would take them at least another four days to finally reach the safety of her family's distant kin. On the third day after the beginning of the new year their mood had reached a new low. They had seen three more dead this day - another child and two previously wounded by the dragon's attack. The knowledge that all of them would still be alive had they just received any help was almost beyond the strength of many to bear.

At least they had managed to kindle a fire this evening. The youngest in their group were visibly shaking with cold and none of them had truly felt warm in days. Varna quietly thanked the Maker that her own children were long old enough to cope with unfavourable conditions such as this. However, as sound as their body might be, she could see that something had changed today - Balin was different. Ever since they had come across the third family mourning their loved one, her eldest's eyes seemed to be locked onto something far away, his fingers unconsciously opening and closing. It was bitter irony that the young dwarf who was always so quick to talk and sharp in his wits would almost never spill any words about what was going on in his own mind.

"Nidoy?" The gesture with which she put her hand on his arm was almost hesitant. Her son flinched in surprise, but then his eyes focused and a tiny, lop-sided smile appeared on his face as he turned around to his mother.

"It's fine, ma. Sorry. I just-" his voice broke. Varna had never seen her soon so shaken, for usually he kept his feelings firmly wrapped up inside him.

With a quiet sigh and smile, Varna gently cupped Balin's cheek in her hands and put their foreheads together as she had done when he had been but a small dwarfling and he had come crawling into their bed because nightmares had scared him. Normally he would have batted her hand away, but this time he just closed his eyes.

"I knew the dwarf we passed earlier. His name was Austar. He always sat next to me during history lessons...always joking, always laughing. He told me how he wanted to travel after he was of age and see the Misty Mountains and Ered Luin. And now he never will..." his voice was trailing off. With an almost visible effort he pulled himself together again.

"I know that many have died, some of which I could count amongst my friends. I saw it with my own eyes. But somehow...maybe we could've saved him if we had just done something, anything, if we had walked faster, gotten help from the Iron Hills..."

"Now you sound just like the prince." Varna's voice was tender, despite the soft rebuke in her words.

"There is nothing you, or we for that matter, could have done, Balin, and you know it. Be grateful that your family is still alive and whole and do your best to comfort those left behind. Nobody would ever demand anything else from you."

Balin's smile was still a little crooked but a lot more genuine than only moments before.

"Everything alright?" The gruff voice came from behind them. Varna turned around, towards her husband who had noticed that something was off. Dwalin had also come over from his place at Thorin's side, worrying about his older brother. Balin couldn't bring himself to simply dismiss their honest worry for him.

"Not quite. But it will be. Thank you."

Fundin had never been good at finding the right words for consoling others, but the grip of his hand was warm as he put it on his son's shoulder and there was sympathy in the gruff tone of his voice.

"Don't you worry my boy. You'll see, everything usually works out somehow, even if it doesn't look like it for now."

Despite his words being far from original, Balin knew his father's concern was genuine.

"If you want, I can try and slap all those worries right out of yer head. I've done it for Thorin, I can do it for you too." Balin had to bite back a grin at his brother's very own way of trying to comfort him. Oddly enough, it worked - maybe because he knew that his brother was serious or because the image of Dwalin punching their prince right in the face never quite failed to amuse him.

The guilt and desperation had not passed; but both had become lighter now that he knew his family shared his burden.

"Balin, there's a vicious knot in your hair."

"What-" But his protests went unheeded as Varna resolutely started to comb out his hair with her fingers. Balin could feel the heat rising up in his face at being treated like a child all of a sudden. Not even his deadliest glare could stop his brother's quiet snigger at his helpless situation and their mother's obvious attempt to distract him.

"Ma, there are knots and tangles all over my hair! Leave it!" He felt like he was fifteen again.

Varna just grinned and continued her work, tugging at Balin's strands until he thought they would fall right off. When Dwalin was barely able to suppress his laughter anymore, she only shot him a single warning glance before returning to her work at hand.

"What are you laughing at, nidoy? You will be next..."

There was a sound that sounded suspiciously like a laugh disguised as a snort from Thorin's corner. Balin had never seen his brother turn so red so fast.

"Oh, Dís, look!" All turned their head as Frerin's voice rang through the clear air of the night. He had his little sister hoisted up on his knee and pointed towards Varna and her oldest son.

"I bet my hair looks horrible too, doesn't it?" The youngest of Thráin's children nodded ferociously. With the painful honesty all dwarflings seemed to possess up to a certain point in their lives she then proceeded to point out:

"But Thorin's is even worse!" This drew a chuckle from more than one of the present dwarves.

The prince, upon hearing his name, turned around, eyes still shining with frustration, pain and anger. Some of those emotions, however, dissolved as he looked at his younger siblings; Balin recognised the look in his face - it was the same he felt inside him whenever he had moved himself between Dwalin and any danger that might present itself to him when they were younger.

"How about this, Dís - I'll do your hair and you do Thorin's and maybe, if we ask very nicely, Mister Balin will do mine?"

"Yes!" Her little voice was quivering with excitement.

Faced with such enthusiasm and begging eyes of deepest Durin blue Balin discovered he was unable to say no. Soon he found himself as part of what, in better days, would have been called a hair braiding circle. Now it was simply a way for them to distract themselves from grief for a while. And if Thorin's muffled hisses were any indication, his little sister was taking her task very seriously, yanking at his strands with remarkable persistence and vigour. To everybody's surprise their efforts even proved successful, the number of small items they disentangled from each other's hair steadily increasing.

They were almost finished with their task when the light of torches danced throughout the night, accompanied by the sound of several agitated voices. The entire group was immediately alert, Gróin pulling Óin close to himself, just as Thráin did Dís, his sons standing at his side.

The moment when they could make out the shape of a dwarf wearing the traditional garbs of the Iron Hill folk, a sigh went through all of them, grips on swords and makeshift weapons relaxing. Help had finally arrived.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, at the Iron Hills. Yes, Grór and Thrór are brothers (and Farin their cousin), something which I sometimes tend to forget, oops. And we finally find out about the fate of Thorin's, Frerin's and Dís' mother. Durin family feels galore!

The dragon's attack on the Lonely Mountain could not have come at a more unfortunate time. So close to Durin's Day no dwarves had been on the road, all the trade with the Iron Hills and other settlements ceasing before winter closed the roads, allowing all of them to get home in time to spend the most important day of the year with their family and friends. Had it been summer, the news of the dragon's attack would have spread much faster, enabling Grór to send help to his brother's kin as soon as possible.

As it were, though, they had only heard of the terrible tragedy befalling the folk of Erebor when the first of the refugees had all but collapsed on their door step. They did the best they could, sending out as many dwarrows and dwarrowdams as possible with food, clothing and wagons to transport the injured and those too weak to walk.

One day after they had met the first of the helpers on the road, the former King under the Mountain and his kin stepped through the richly carved arches that marked the entrance to the heart of Grór's realm in the Iron Hills.

Frerin had never been to the Iron Hills himself. He knew his brother had visited his great uncle's home once before, as part of the festivities for the birth of Dáin, his first grandson and second heir. Thorin hadn't told him much about the state visit and the other side of their family when he and Thráin had returned, apart from remarking how similar Grór looked to his older brother. He had never specified whether he meant before or after the dragon sickness, but as they faced the Lord of the Iron Hills, Frerin mused that it was likely the former. Grór had indeed the same proud features that he shared with Frerin's own grandfather, mingled with his iron will and just a hint of warmth, ready to break forth at the most unexpected of times.

They had barely been given the time to bathe and change their clothes before an unfamiliar dwarf bade them to come into the big hall that usually served as a room for council meetings and had now been converted into an emergency accommodation for the increasing number of refugees from Erebor. Frerin and his kin were led to one of the adjacent smaller chambers where the Lord of the Iron Hills, his wife and the rest of his family were waiting for them.

The silence of regal court protocol lasted only for a few moments. All it needed was for Grór to catch his brother's weary, empty eyes and he stepped forward to grasp his shoulders and bring their foreheads together. Frerin had never seen his grandfather truly showing such emotions in his face, since he only vaguely remembered the laughing, friendly old dwarf from his early childhood. Apart from the eve of Durin's Day, the glint of madness had vanished almost completely from his eyes for the first time in years. No words were needed between the brothers and as Grór moved on to greet the rest of their group, Thráin put a hand on his father's upper arm in silent consolation.

Quite obviously no longer caring for the restriction of protocol, Farin was the next one the Lord greeted. His cousin's eyes were filled with equal measures of grief and relief as they gripped each other's shoulders in wordless support and greeting. Not much was spoken as Grór proceeded to bid his welcome to the rest of their group. The enormity of what had happened was too big to be described by mere words, the pain still too close to have any hopes of being mended.

They were promised shelter and food for themselves and their kin, at the least for the duration of the winter. Thrór nodded gratefully, though Frerin could see the spark of frustration in his eyes at having to depend on others for their survival. Pride had always been one of his grandfather's diminishing features and to have to survive on the charity of his brother alone was a more severe blow than most physical injuries could have dealt him. As they were about to be guided to their new quarters, Thráin finally dared to ask the question that had been burning on his mind ever since they had arrived.

"Have you had word of Sigvór?"

Frerin's breath caught in his lungs at the mention of his mother's name. Even before a hint of sadness tinged his grandfather's eyes and he shook his head he suddenly knew what his answer was going to be. From the way Thorin tensed up next to him he knew his brother had noticed, too.

"I'm sorry." Grór said quietly. "We haven't heard anything. But there are still a lot of refugees out there; she might be with some of them. We will let you know as soon as we have any news."

Thráin managed a small smile to convey his gratitude.

"Thank you." he told his uncle.

Though all of them were in dire need of some respite from their ordeal, both Thorin and Frerin were far too restless to do so yet. They left their father and grandfather to their brooding, their sister to sleeping and, after a bath, changing into new clothes and a short detour to the kitchen to gather some food, made their way to the big gate that marked the entrance to the realm of the Iron Hills. There was a steady stream of dwarrows filling the streets now; many of them in a bad state even though they were aided by the many helpers Grór had sent out to offer whatever assistance they needed.

Frerin's and Thorin's steps had carried them both in wordless consent to the one place where they would be able to spot their mother first once she arrived. Neither of them were willing to face the prospect that she might not ever arrive yet. As long as there was still hope, they would stand here and wait for her to come.

Frerin could see the darkness in his brother's eyes as he took in the haggard shapes stumbling inside the city. There were more of them than they had initially feared, but far less than they had hoped. Starving, freezing and many with wounds from the dragon's attack, their image was more than enough to set them both on edge. He knew of the guilt surging through his brother, knew the mighty temper slumbering deep within him, about to be woken anytime by simmering frustration.

"Thorin?" Frerin's voice was hesitant, but he knew that he couldn't let the issue of what had happened in the forest a few days ago sit between them any longer. He knew that his brother had always hated to talk about what was going on inside him. But as the younger brother, he reserved to be private even to those parts of himself that Thorin didn't want to acknowledge.

"Hm?" His brother's eyes didn't move from the scenery in front of him, always looking, always searching for the familiar face of their mother.

Frerin swallowed a little before he found the courage to continue.

"What happened in the forest the second day after Durin's Day..."

Thorin's posture stiffened almost unnoticeably, a shadow of shame briefly clouding his features. Frerin continued, always wary for any sign of his brother's special brand of self-destructive anger as he spoke.

"You frightened Dís. You frightened me, too. I'm not sure what I would have done if Dwalin hadn't been there."

"I'm sorry." Thorin's whisper was barely audible. "I didn't mean to scare you. Or her."

"I know." Frerin managed a smile and carefully put a hand on his brother's arm, glad he didn't flinch away at the movement.

"It's just...we were worried about you, you know? I know you are the firstborn, the heir, but it doesn't mean you have to carry the burden all alone."

For a single moment, Frerin thought that Thorin was going to snap and berate him for his words, but then his brother reigned in his temper. Sometimes he was thankful that he was only the second son, when he saw how the burden made Thorin's shoulders slump when he thought that no one was looking, how the frustration at not being able to help those people that would one day be _his_ to rule was creeping in his blood and poisoning his mind.

"I..." Thorin was unsure of what to reply. His eyes narrowed, the ghost of pain suddenly flaring up in his knuckles, a memory of shame, regret and seething anger.

"Thank you." It was the most he could offer his little brother, the worry in Frerin's eyes making his heart ache. He was rewarded with one of those smiles of his brother's that could bring sunshine into even the darkest of rooms.

"So, the next time before you run off on your own, promise that you try and talk to me first? Or Dwalin, although I suspect his preferred method of helping you would largely consist of a fist to your stomach."

Thorin felt a smile curl up the edges of his lips ay Frerin's words and a surge of warmth flood through him as he recognised them as what they were - not empty phrases, but an earnest offer for help.

He reached over and ruffled his brother's blond hair.

"I promise."

Frerin grinned at his words and the affectionate gesture and gently elbowed him in the ribs.

"Good."

The two of them spent the next hours with their eyes poised on the road and the steady trickle of refugees. The sun was slowly setting on the horizon, painting the sky a fiery red that reminded them uncomfortably of dragon fire lighting the Halls of their home, sending screams through the night. Frerin trembled slightly, the echoes of the slaughter resounding in his head. He could feel his brother nudge closer to his own seat and then, almost hesitantly, put an arm around his shoulder. Thankful for the warmth and support he let his head sink on Thorin's arm, allowing himself this quiet moment of vulnerability.

Their silent companionship didn't last long. Suddenly, something small bumped into their backs, knocking the air out of both of them with a single movement.

"Dís!" Frerin's exclamation was slightly breathless as he grinned at their little sister. His brother lifted his arm to make space for the small dwarrowdam between them.

Then he looked up at the hulking figure that had appeared behind them, eyebrows furrowed in an unspoken question.

Dwalin shrugged. "She woke up and was asking for you. So I promised her that we'd go searching for you."

"Thorin, where's Ma?" It was an almost innocent question, but Thorin couldn't help but flinch when he saw the longing in his sister's eyes. Sigvór's love for her children had been as calm, fierce and unrelenting as she had been in every other aspect of her life. Thorin and even Frerin, to a degree, were old enough to be able to subdue their thirst for her sight and the feeling of her strong arms that had always seemed as if they could keep all harm in the world away. Dís was too young to have such restraints yet and so she was more forceful in the desire for her mother's affection. Thorin shuddered as he suddenly realised that he had begun to think of his mother in the past tense. _No,_ he told himself firmly. _Don't give up hope. Not yet._

With a little smile he tugged Dís closer, carefully disentangling her hair with his fingers. It was the same as her mothers, dark, wild and almost impossible to tame.

"She isn't here yet." he explained calmly. "But she will be soon."

"Yes, she will be." Frerin chimed in. "And what would she say if she saw you with hair like that?"

Dís, momentarily satisfied with their answer, squealed in delight as he turned her around, Thorin quickly yielding his hold of her to him. Braiding her hair quickly seemed to become one of the prime methods to distract their little sister from her grief and busy their hands, if not their minds. In the end, Frerin dealt with her right side and Thorin with her left, Dwalin waiting behind them, somehow unwilling to leave the company of the three youngest heirs of Durin. It wasn't long until Dís demanded her brothers' hair to be braided as well - and as Thorin was quickly commanded to do Frerin's, it left Dwalin to take on the future king's braids.

He hesitated. Braiding somebody else's hair was usually a sign of affection reserved for only the closest of family and kin. Though distantly related, it would be highly improper for him to engage in such an activity, even though his brother had already done the same with Frerin only a few days before. But Balin was the elder and would soon be adviser to the royal family. Here they were back in court and under the watchful eyes of more than just family and friends.

Physical contact had never been a problem despite the differences in their standing - a member of Durin's Line himself, he had grown up with Thorin, the two of them having experienced more than their fair share of brawls and sparring.

"Uncle Dwalin?" Dís' brows were furrowed in an almost too perfect imitation of her brother's scowl as she noticed the tall dwarf's hesitation and turned to him. Dwalin had to stifle a small laugh.

The hint of a smile passed over Thorin's face as he took note of his sister's words, but it was Frerin who finally replied.

"We shouldn't disappoint her now, should we?"

Still hesitant, Dwalin lowered himself to the ground behind Thorin. The prince sat unmoving as he carefully gathered a few strands in his hand and began to plait them in a simple braid. The young heir didn't move under the touch of his fingers, his posture only a shadow too stiff to be entirely relaxed. The beginning awkwardness soon dispersed, however, under the steady stream of Dís' chatter and Frerin's jokes.

As he slowly brought up the courage to try a more elaborate design, he couldn't help but notice the curve of Thorin's neck beneath the mass of dark hair. The strands felt both strangely light and overly heavy in his hand as he continued to weave the patterns he remembered from countless evenings with his family. He noticed to his surprise that, whilst Thorin was certainly as good as to be expected from a royal prince at his task, Frerin's fingers were the most swift and skilful of them all, plaiting complicated after complicated braid into his sister's hair.

The time until nightfall passed quickly with their talking and the comfort of a normal task. Dwalin could see the glint of disappointment and worry in both Thorin's and Frerin's eyes as night made it impossible for them to continue their vigil any longer and there had still been no news of their mother. He tried to imagine the uproar in his own heart at such a time if it were Varna who was missing and was unable to do so.

The three siblings kept up their watch for several days, but to no avail. With each passing hour their eyes grew more desperate, but they quietly refused to give up hope just yet. Dwalin didn't always keep them company, but he and his brother made sure to look after the youngest heirs of Durin as much as possible. Dwalin found himself spending a growing amount of time in the practise courts, measuring his skills against the local dwarves and exhausting himself enough in the process to be spared any nightmares after dusk. Balin, on the other hand, buried himself in reading, studying the old scrolls and conversing with the keepers of knowledge for hours at a time.

The news about their mother's fate reached them five days after their arrival in the Iron Hills. It was shortly after noon and they had just taken up their places at the gate again, when suddenly a dwarrowdam moved out of the line of incoming refugees (whose number had slowly been declining for the past days) and approached them.

"Prince Thorin?" Her voice sounded tired and unsure as her eyes were darting between Thorin and his brother. Dís was with Balin who had promised to read her one of her favourite stories after lunch.

"Yes?" Thorin stood up, not quite to able cover up the sudden feeling of both hope and dread in his stomach. Next to him, Frerin dragged himself up onto his feet as well, instinctively moving closer.

"The Lady Sigvór..."

Somehow Thorin's hand had found its way on Frerin's shoulder, squeezing it firmly.

"You have news of our mother?" There was a deeper, breaking note to his voice now that his brother had never heard there before.

"Yes." The dwarrowdam before them fidgeted with her hands, obviously not quite knowing how to relay her news. Thorin knew he should have offered her food, drink and comfort first, should have encouraged her in her task, but he found himself unable to do so, breath catching in his throat.

"I was with the Lady in the Upper Chambers before the attack. She had come to gather jewels for her newest piece and when the dragon came, she helped my friend Óluva escape despite the tremors that shook the floor. But the dragon was too close and the ceiling suddenly caved in on my heels when they were right behind me. There was..."she swallowed. "There was no chance they could have survived. I'm sorry."

The dwarrowdam's words somehow seemed distant to Thorin, as if they belonged to a different person, a different life. He was vaguely aware of a faint tremble in his hands and idly wondered how his heart could still be beating, how the world could just go on when a piece of it was suddenly missing. Frerin beside him seemed to have stopped breathing, his eyes wide and his shape frozen in its posture.

Thorin heard himself thanking the dwarrowdam for her message and she retreated back to her family members, obviously not wishing to intrude on their grief.

For a few moments the two brothers stood next to each other, not a single movement coming from them. Then Frerin turned around, Thorin's hand limply falling off his shoulder, somehow having lost all its strength. He grasped his brothers neck, bringing their foreheads to rest on each other, trying to draw at least some semblance of strength and comfort from the physical contact. There were no tears yet, the shock (though expected from at least a tiny part of their souls) drying out their eyes and their hearts too heavy to weep.

Instead Thorin pulled his brother into a firm embrace, his hand stroking Frerin's blond hair in an almost desperate gesture of consolation and shared grief. Frerin's hand was clutching the fabric of his shirt as if they were the only hold left in his world. They lost trace of time, its flow both stopping and accelerating around them. Only when he heard a young voice crying out their names behind them, Thorin moved again, his blood turning to ice.

Dís.

They had to tell her.

Balin and Dwalin were both accompanying their sister to their watch place. The sons of Fundin knew at once that something was amiss, the expression on the faces of Dís' brothers telling the story their tongues did not have the heart to put into words just yet.

It was Thorin who somehow found the strength to tell their sister, even though his voice was flat and almost void of any emotion, broken like a shard of glass fallen from the shattered window of his life.

"Dís, I'm sorry, we just heard...ma won't be coming back. Not today. Not...ever." His voice failed him at the last word and he could do nothing but watch helplessly as the realisation slowly dawned on his little sister's face. He wanted to reach out, wanted to pull her into a hug, stroke her back and somehow contain her sadness, but she batted his hand away and screamed.

"No, no you're lying! You said that she would be back soon!"

"Dís, I-"

"NO!" Tears were streaming down her face.

Balin caught her before she could run off and back into the settlement. Her words had turned into a wordless wail now that was drowned in Balin's clothes. The older of Fundin's sons smiled with sadness in his eyes and quietly murmured "I'm sorry" before he gently carried Dís back to their quarters.

Dwalin remained, unsure of what to do. He wanted nothing more than pull Thorin into a hug, share his and Frerin's grief and somehow ease it with his touch. But it was almost as if an invisible barrier had been erected between them and he found himself unable to reach out and do what he wanted, not sure whether his gesture would be proper or not.

Thorin was still holding his brother close, his eyes closed as the sound of Dís crying was slowly fading from the air and still reverberating in his mind. Hesitantly, Dwalin lifted his hand and put it on Thorin's arm, trying to convey with his touch what he was yet again unable to put into words. That he would stand beside him no matter what happened; that he would be there to protect and to comfort, trying to buffer each blow that life dealt them over and over again. Thorin didn't shake him off, but rather gave him the hint of a grateful smile. He had still heard what hadn't been said, even through the storm screaming in his veins.

It was late afternoon when Frerin and his brother finally found the strength to make their way back into their quarters and face their father.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to chapter 5! This time featuring Thráin (who will definitely get some POV paragraphs later in this story), a certain ceremony and sparring. I've been burning to write the latter since the moment this fic was born. Glorious UST :'). (Love and thanks to Ivana as always, for everything ♥)

Thorin steeled himself before entering their quarters. He knew he would find Thráin there; his father had taken to withdrawing into his room during the afternoon if there were no urgent matters to attend to. Never one for easy companionship even in Erebor, his father had always preferred the companionship of his own four walls over that of the grand halls and the treasury where Thrór could often be found in their last years at Erebor.

Glancing over to his brother, Thorin noticed that Frerin was once again biting his lips, a habit he had developed to cope with stress when he had been much younger. Their mother had always tried to keep him from doing it and mostly succeeded. An almost physical ache took hold of his heart when Thorin thought of his mother, her words scolding his younger brother ringing in his ears like she was standing next to them. He still couldn't quite believe he would never hear her voice again. Frerin's thoughts seemed to travel along similar roads, for he winced and stopped at once. He felt an absurd urge to grasp his older brother's hand and restrained himself at the last possible moment. At least they wouldn't have to be the ones bringing the news to their father; Dís' cries were ringing clearly through the wooden door.  

Thorin took another deep breath before he opened the entrance to the small rooms that comprised their own personal quarters. For the first time since they had arrived he was truly grateful for the seclusion from the other members of their kin that their royal blood both offered and forced upon them.

His father was leaning against the wall opposite the door, his eyes closed and arms folded on his chest. Thorin would have thought him sleeping if it wasn't for the expression of pain in his face. He seemed to have aged almost decades within the last few days, an aura of weariness surrounding him now.

He heard his two sons enter, but did nothing to acknowledge their presence. Dís was in the next room, obviously still in Balin's company, for his quiet voice could be heard trying to whisper soothing words to her and calm her down. Dwalin had offered to wait outside their quarters, a reassuring presence next to the door.

After what seemed an eternity, Thráin finally brought himself to ask, his voice brittle like old stone:

"How did she die?"

Both Thorin and Frerin shuddered, desperately willing the images in their heads away. But the thoughts of a body crushed and mangled by heavy stone that the tale of the dwarrowdam had conjured up would not so easily disappear, settled in their minds now to come and haunt them at night. Thorin knew it should have been him who answered, but suddenly his throat constricted and he found himself unable to utter a single word. It was Frerin who found the strength to reply to their father's question from somewhere.

"It was a cave in. Apparently she was in the Upper Halls when it happened and the ceiling gave way when the dragon shook the mountain and..." his voice faltered as quickly as he had raised it.

"At least she is buried under stone then." his father whispered. There was no humour in the quick twitching of his lips faintly resembling a smile. His tone was as cold as the deepest caverns in the ground, devoid of any life.

Frerin burned with the sudden desire of making contact with his father. He wanted to feel his strong arms hugging him and the gruff voice he remembered from dark nights when had climbed in his parent's bed followed by nightmares whispering in his ear that it would be alright, that they would make it through this together. But Thráin did nothing of the sort, remaining put and leaning against the wall, avoiding his sons' eyes.

The younger of Thrór's heirs noticed how his older brother flinched slightly next to him. Thorin knew maybe better than anyone else how his father felt. Thráin had grown up getting groomed to be the sole heir to the mighty dwarven kingdom of Erebor. The burden of future kingship had always hung heavy over him and the rules of protocol had been burnt into his mind from an early age. Yes, his own father and mother had shown him affection often enough, but in contrast to Thorin he had no siblings nor companions so close as to be able to pry his emotions out of him. Sigvór alone had known how to at times and now she was gone and the door to his heart was almost closed.

Nonetheless, Thorin wished his father would not bury his grief inside him, closing himself off from his own family as a result. They needed him, his brother and himself, and their little sister most of all.

As if on cue, the door to the other room opened and Dís came in, Balin at her heels. Her eyes were red from crying and her little shape trembling. Thorin could see his father's fingers twitch with the desire to hold the youngest of his children but the notion vanished as quickly as it had appeared and the abyss between them suddenly seemed too large to ever bridge properly.

Dís had seemingly lost her initial anger from earlier and she didn't hesitate for a single moment to approach her two brothers. Frerin lifted her up on his arms and held her tight, his hands stroking her hair and murmuring words too quiet to understand to soothe her pain. Thorin felt as if a stone was lodged in his throat as he noticed once again just how _small_ their little sister truly still was. A flame of anger rose up inside him as he thought that she should be at home in their quarters in Erebor, safe and sound and in the arms of her mother instead of being forced into exile and mourn the dead at much too young an age.

The three siblings escaped the silence of their chambers not soon after, leaving their father to deal with his sadness in his own way, burying himself in work and old scrolls. The more he distanced himself from them, the closer they seemed to grow. Had they occasionally been seen apart from each other in the previous days so was it rare now to spot one of them without the other two trailing behind in the first few days after the news of their mother's death, both of Fundin's sons always close as well.

If Thorin had thought that the emptiness would somehow get better with the passage of time he had erred. After the initial numbness of the first shock had vanished, the full blow of their loss seemed to hit him like a mountain caving in his chest.

It was the little things that seemed to set him off, sending sharp pangs of grief through his throat and clouding his eyes. The sound of a flute in the hallways of the Iron Hills for example, like Sigvór used to play it, or the sight of a set of little chisels, his mother's favourite tools for her craft; the notes of a familiar song that she had sung a thousand times to her children to help them fall asleep. He could see the same grief in the way his father's eyes always turned hollow when he looked at the untouched left side of his bed. He knew that Frerin and Dís fared little better and especially their sister had taken to wake up often at nights, calling for her mother. It took him and his brother both to get her to calm down and go back to sleep again, often lying awake themselves afterwards and staring into the dark.

After a week the trickle of refugees into the Iron Hills had stopped almost completely. There should have been noise in the hallways now that so many more dwarves had taken up residence there, but there was silence reigning almost everywhere instead, only broken by the sounds of grief and their daily lives like the hammers in the forges and other noises of craft. There was barely anyone who hadn't lost friends or family additionally to their home and their sadness pulled all the mirth out of the air.

When no more dwarves had arrived in the span of a day, Thrór called the remainder of his folk together in the Great Halls of the Iron Hills. Grór and his family kept themselves respectfully at the back - this day they were mere watchers, quietly showing their support for their kin from the Lonely Mountain, but not a central part of the tragedy which had befallen them.

Thorin felt a terrible weight settle in his chest as he looked at the number of refugees in front of him. Once all the inhabitants of the Lonely Mountain could barely fit into the Hall of Kings, the greatest of their assembly halls. The dwarrows now gathered in front of them couldn't have made up more than two thirds of this number. But what he could see in their eyes was worse - those weren't the proud people of one of middle earth's richest dwarven kingdoms. No, they were a broken folk, battered by grief, loss and the hardships of the road.

The royal family was standing next to the former King under the Mountain as Thrór's voice rang through the room, almost reaching its once so booming quality it had possessed before the madness had taken hold of him. He spoke of their grief and the many losses that they had endured and of how, despite all the blows they had taken, they were still of a proud folk that would remain unbroken and endure through the days to come. He thanked his brother for providing them with sanctuary in their need. Only when he spoke a prayer to their Maker on behalf of all their people, did his voice break. The thought of so many of them remaining unburied in the stone where they belonged, their corpses rotting in empty rooms or turned to ash on the ground left none of them untouched.

His grandfather's prayer was echoed by many voices, most of them clinging to the hope that their Maker might hear their appeal, have mercy on those lost souls and guide them to his Halls. Thorin felt his eyes burn as he and his family joined in and for a single second he wished nothing more than being able to weep, able to answer the cries of grief and rage rising up from the people in front of him with his own. But he was the king's heir and as such, his people would be looking for strength rather than weakness, he told himself. And so he remained unmoving, his face a mask of stone as many dwarrows in front of him were wailing openly, their facades worn in front of the outsiders of the Iron Hills cracking under the pressure of the emotions bearing down on them.

And not all of them seemed to have the same love for their king and his family standing upon the dais, outwardly unfazed by what had happened and the death of the prince's wife. There were sporadic mutterings amongst the crowd and more than one of them spoken by a voice filled with anger and contempt.

As if on par with their frozen hearts, winter closed its iron grip around the settlements of the Iron Hills the same day. Every walk outside the caverns in the hills and the wooden huts clustering at the entrance of the main settlement proved to be a challenge, often cut short by snow reaching up to their waists and a howling wind straight from the north that made their teeth clatter and buried the frost deep inside their bones.

Thus they were forced to stay inside, each one of them left with doing the task they thought best for occupying their thoughts: Hulda took to visiting the weavers every day, lending her skills to them and in turn taking up some techniques of theirs for her own, her son Dori always toiling behind. Gróin could often be found in the armouries, discussing materials and decorations with the smiths, his father Farin accompanying him despite his old age, the wisdom and strength of his years leading to many an interested dwarf asking him for advice. Gróin's wife Lís and their son Óin turned their heads to more immediate matters instead, with Lís helping with organisation and distribution of food to the refugees and little Óin following her every movement, especially when they went to talk to the healers.

Varna had taken up her craft of carving and adorning again, more than interested in the stories and techniques that their kin had developed in the Iron Hills over the past two hundred years. Her son Balin, when not occupied with watching and teaching Dís, buried himself in all the old scrolls he could find, often accompanied by vibrant discussions with the local scholars. Both Fundin and Dwalin had no mind for such pursuits of the mind and found their solace in more practical matters, on the training grounds inside the hills.

Thrór and Nár spent most of the time with the exiled king's brother, discussing matters of state and organisation and the fate of their folk after the winter was over. Thráin withdrew himself further and further as time went by, barely sparing even more than a few words for even the closest members of his family. Frerin and Dís stuck together most of the time, well out of their father's way. The youngest of their family was yet too small to choose a craft, but she was never far from sight from either Balin or her second brother as the latter expressed his interest in both smithing and the finer workings of art. As soon as Varna noticed as such, she often took him to accompany her to the small workplace set aside for her in one of the big forges.

Thorin would wander the halls of their temporary refuge tirelessly, finding himself unable to concentrate on a single task for long. He helped wherever help was needed, be it in the forges, with the healers or at any other place. But though they had lost their mountain, he was still one of the highest members of royalty in many a dwarrow's eye and thus seldomly asked for help if he did not offer it freely himself. His mood grew darker with each passing day, his frustration and grief turning into a dark maelstrom in his soul that shortened his temper and caused him to lash out at both friends and strangers. The only ones whose sight still managed to subdue his anger where his own siblings, for he had sworn himself never to scare them again. He tried to hold true to the promise he had given Frerin when they had first arrived at the Iron Hills.

Dwalin watched the royal family and worried. He was well aware that it wasn't his place to comment on Thráin's behaviour of neglecting his children, but the damage it did was plain as day. And whilst all three of the royal seemed to suffer equally, Thorin seemed to be the only one not capable of drawing himself out of the dark thoughts flooding his mind.

It was time to change something about it.

After a particularly unpleasant morning when Thorin had been so unapproachable that even Frerin's attempts at joking had proved all but fruitless, Dwalin grabbed his friend's arm and all but dragged him out of the room, heedless of who might be watching them.

"Dwalin, _stop_." Thorin was seething, his voice taking on the deadly quiet quality right before he would explode.

"Care to explain what this is about?"

Dwalin let go of his friend and crossed his arms in front of his chest, letting the full weight of his gaze fall on Thorin's face.

"Aye. Your mood is as black as the coals in the Maker's forge and I'd rather you take it out on me in the practise court than on anybody else who just so happens to be in your way."

Thorin scowled, the thunderstorm behind his eyes only moderately quelled by a flicker of shame. The grinding of his teeth on each other was almost audible as he nodded curtly.

Dwalin's only answer was a short tilt of his head before he proceeded to walk down the convoluted hallways to the training areas, not bothering to look over his shoulder and see whether Thorin was following him. He led them to the farthest of the quadrangles carefully laid into the flooring, unwilling to have his sparring match with one of the royal family turn into a matter of public interest.

Neither of them spoke as they began to ready themselves, stretching and loosening their muscles. Dwalin pointed at the pile of training armour at the one side of the vast hall and Thorin shook his head. Neither of them were inexperienced dwarflings anymore and they had fought each other enough times that they could minimise the chances for serious injury even without proper protective gear. Thorin rid himself of the overtunic and ornamented belt he had been wearing until he was only adorned in a shirt, held together around his waist by a simple belt and a pair of loose trousers. His face unmoving, he drew out a small stripe of leather to bind back his hair.

Dwalin watched the prince's calm movements, his still simmering frustrated fury only betrayed by the icy storm clouds in his eyes. With a few steps he walked over to the weapon stands, selecting two wooden staffs of equal length and throwing one to his sparring partner. Thorin's eyes narrowed at his choice of weapon, but as much as he trusted Thorin's abilities, Dwalin was not willing to risk him drawing blood in his anger by using real axes or swords. And those staffs would do as well as any other wooden or blunt practise weapon.

Thorin first strike came hard and fast, fuelled by all the emotions inside him. Dwalin blocked it with a grunt, his muscles quivering under the rage behind Thorin's attack. Next was a fast succession of hits, the prince wielding his weapon with both hands, lashing out again and again, trying to break Dwalin's cover.

Dwalin was taunting him, not with words but with movements - in contrast to him Thorin hadn't practised his skills at arms since the dragon's attack. Additionally, his judgement was still clouded by the uproar in his heart and it meant that Dwalin had no problems holding him at bay for now.

With a flurry of strikes he brought himself in the offensive again, his weapon smacking hard into Thorin's. His opponent's eyes narrowed in anger as he realised the teasing in those motions. Thorin's lips parted in a snarl and for instant Dwalin was faced with the full force of his ire, as if he was the dragon and fate come into dwarven form.

He grinned.

It was what he had wanted - to draw out the wrath poisoning his friend's blood, to silence the thunder of the voices screaming in his head that he was a worthless heir. At his grin, Thorin's eyes once again lit up and he re-doubled his efforts to break through Dwalin's cover. There wasn't much grace to their movements at first, brute strength being favoured instead of swiftness of hand. Their corner of the hall reverberated with the clashing of wood on wood, the scraping of their boots on the floor, the rustling of cloth as they moved and the occasional shout or growl escaping their throats.

With time their exchanges became smoother as routine and practise slowly burned the anger out of Thorin's body. He felt as if a veil in front of his eyes was slowly lifting and for the first time since the news of his mother's death he sensed a sort of clarity in his thoughts again. When Dwalin finally broke his defenses and stopped his staff shortly before crashing his neck, Thorin found it in himself to yield the victory to him ungrudgingly with a slight nod of his head.

For a short moment they stood facing each other as Dwalin lowered his staff, drawing in heavy breaths as they calmed the agitated beat of their hearts. Then Thorin offered his friend a quick, gracious smile before asking him:

"Again?"

"If you're not tired yet?" The cheeky glint in Dwalin's eyes betrayed the humour of his question and Thorin snorted in reply.

"And don't go easy on me now." Caught up in his fury as he had been, he had still noticed Dwalin holding back at points in their previous match, likely because his own sense of alertness had been considerably dulled by his anger.

Dwalin grinned again and left him barely a moment to compose himself before he attacked.

This time their dance was far more graceful. Dwalin could move surprisingly fast for a dwarrow of his stature and made good use of both his strength and swiftness. Thorin's own muscles finally remembered the movements engrained into them by countless sessions with their weapons instructor and he was nothing if not fast on his own. Caught up in their very own, familiar rhythm they both felt like they were back on the practise grounds in Erebor, as if nothing had ever happened.

Neither of them entirely managed to gain the upper hand in their second fight. Dwalin idly mused that they would both sport a heavy set of bruises the next day, just as they always had after a proper sparring match. He brought his staff up just in time to reflect Thorin's blow and drove him backwards a few steps by the sheer force of his block until his opponent found his balance again and matched it with his own strength. Neither of them willing to relent even a single inch in their position, they pressed close to each other, their foreheads almost touching.

Their eyes locked and Dwalin suddenly found himself acutely aware of the little beads of sweat on Thorin's nose, the slight curling of his lips in excitement and the way the blue in his gaze was both clear as the sky and whirling like the depth of the sea, threatening to draw him inside and swallow him whole. Thorin's own breath caught in his throat at the piercing stare of gray that somehow seemed to look behind all the barriers in his head.

The moment passed as quickly as it had come and left them both out of balance for a split second. Then their dance resumed, soon leaving them panting in effort and slowly beckoning exhaustion. Neither of them had any real knowledge of how much time had passed when they finally stepped apart and lowered their weapons. It had been a while since Thorin had felt so exhausted - but it was a good sort of tiredness, one of the body after a good piece of work rather than one of the mind, courtesy of endless frustration and poisoned thinking.

They had just set the staffs back onto the racks and gathered up their clothes when they heard a breathless voice call them from the other side of the great hall.

"Prince Thorin? Master Dwalin?"

Dwalin furrowed his brows. The expression on the young dwarf's face didn't bode well, his eyes wide with fear and his breath coming much too fast even for having run all the way to the sparring grounds.

"What is it?" Thorin had noticed as well, for his voice was nothing more than a low growl.

"The princess Dís...and your brother, sir...they..." Dwalin felt the blood inside his veins freeze even as the young dwarrow stammered on.

"S-somebody has tried to kill them."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After so much Thorin angst and issues it's time for somebody else to be...slightly emotionally compromised, let's put it that way (blind with fury would be another way of saying it, er). Because, let's face it, none of our beloved dwarves is perfect, but they somehow get through it together. Which is exactly why we love them so much, right? ;) (The punishment in the end is completely made up btw, sorry)

It seemed to Dwalin that they had never ran so fast before, not even when the dragon itself had been on their heels. The young dwarrow had barely had enough time to give them directions before they were both dashing off, neither of them minding their sweaty and unkempt state right after sparring.

The thoughts were pounding in their heads in rhythm with the tapping of their boots on the stones. _Please let them be alright, please, please, please_...a never ending loop in their minds fuelled by desperation and fear.

The incident had happened not far from the royal family's quarters - apparently Balin had accompanied Dís back from a short visit to Frerin who had been cooped up with Varna since breakfast. Thorin felt his own heartbeat resounding loudly in his ears when they finally came to a halt, taking in the scene before them. There were five guards forming a rough circle around three figures hunched to the floor and the sound of shouting in the distance.

"Nadad!" There were traces of tears on Dís' cheeks and her small form was trembling, but she seemed unhurt otherwise as she ran towards her oldest brother. Thorin scooped her up in his arms and kissed her forehead, too relieved to find any words to say to her just yet.

"Balin!"

That was Dwalin's voice as his steps thundered past Thorin and he crouched down next to his brother. Balin looked dishevelled and pale, but still managed a smile at the sight of his brother which quickly turned into a grimace at the touch of the healer kneeling next to him.

"I'm fine, don't worry." he pressed out. "It's just a scratch, nothing serious."

The grey in Dwalin's eyes had gone dark with worry and his gaze flicked over to the healer next to him who noticed the question lingering in it.

"Yes, he will be fine. The cut is deep and he has lost some blood, but there is nothing life-threatening, although he should take it slow with the use of his arm for the next few days. He was lucky. A hand's width further to the left and it might've ended differently."

Dwalin sighed and thought for a moment that surely, the rocks tumbling from his heart could be heard throughout the mountain. For a second he was almost dizzy as the fear that had tightened his throat at the thought of his brother murdered, his brother _hurt_ slowly seeped away. In its stead came anger, slow and rumbling through his chest like an avalanche that was quietly picking up speed.

"So what happened?" he finally asked him.

Balin aborted the movement of shrugging his shoulders and frowned instead.

"It was only one attacker and he seemed to have come out of nowhere. He was clearly one of the refugees from home and he was targeting Dís. He fled when he heard the guards coming. If I had been only a thought slower..." he swallowed.

"But you weren't and I will always be thankful for the Maker's grace that she had you by her side."

Thorin had approached, his sister still perched on his arm. Now he laid a hand on Balin's healthy shoulder and squeezed it, unable to put the entirety of the thankfulness in his heart into words.

"Thank you for protecting my sister, Balin. She owes you her life."

Balin smiled, reaching out to pat Dís' arm.

"It was nothing, everybody else would've done the same. She's a brave little lass, our Dís. She didn't run or panic, but instead tried to bind my wound the moment it was over. "

"Does it hurt?" Dís didn't seemed to be scared by the blood - instead, she leaned down towards Balin, dark eyes wandering over him.

"If it hurts, I can sing you the song momma always did when I was sick."

"Ah, no, it's fine, but thank you all the same, Lady Dís." The twinkle in Balin's eyes was as affectionate as if she were his own sister and even Thorin had to stifle a smile in her hair whilst Dwalin let out an amused grunt.

A commotion further down the hallway diverted their attention.

"Prince Thorin!"

One of the guards came running towards him, gesturing wildly.

"We found the attacker and cornered him. He has hidden in one of the storage rooms at the lower level and locked the entrance. We are about to breach through the door."

With a twinge in his heart Thorin realised that neither his father or grandfather had arrived on the scene yet and so it fell to him to take at least partial control over the situation. It had been his kin that the attack had been aimed at after all.

"Let me deal with him."

There was nothing but steel in Dwalin's voice and a coldness that made Thorin shudder.

"We will go together."

He tried to make his own voice firm. It came all too easy to him since he felt the same icy fury surge through his veins that he could see in Dwalin's eyes now. Someone had tried to hurt them. Their own family. Murder was a grievous offence amongst their folk in any case, but to try and murder an innocent dwarfling was an act akin to highest treason on the maker himself.

After making sure that Balin was cared for as best as possible they followed the guardian down the hallway through a true maze of corridors until they reached a heavy door made of oak. A dozen guards had formed a semi-circle around it, their axes poised at the wood as if the offender might jump out of the entrance any moment.

Thorin quietly thanked the Maker that both him and Dwalin had thought to grab their weapons (Dwalin a heavy axe and he himself his sword) when they had stormed out of the practise courts.

"Break down the door." he ordered, his voice seemingly calm and betraying nothing of the anger inside.

Two of the guards stepped forward, their axes making quick work of the thick wooden beams. Dwalin was the first to set foot inside the room, a low growl at the base of his throat.

The assailant was standing pressed against the opposite wall, hair dark and unkempt and his eyes wide in terror and madness. There was something unsettling in his gaze, a mixture of pain and anger so deep that it made Thorin shiver.

He was grasping a small axe so tightly that his knuckles stood out white from his unusually tanned skin. A merchant, then, or regular member of trade caravans who spent a lot of time outside. There were traces of red on the blade of the axe.

Dwalin gave a roar at the sight of his brother's blood and before Thorin could hold him back he charged at the dwarrow. The dwarf was clearly no experienced fighter and Dwalin had been on his way to become one of Erebor's best warriors before the dragon's attack. And right now, he was fuelled by blind rage. His first few strikes were blocked by more luck than long-honed skill and when Dwalin's blade drew blood not long after, the dwarrow yelped and dropped his own axe.

If Thorin hadn't stepped in and held back Dwalin's arm at the last possible moment, the tall dwarf would have beheaded the assailant right on the spot.

The prince had to hold on with all his might as his friend continued to struggle against his grip. He was by no means a week dwarf but Dwalin was both taller and broader than him and right now his mind was clouded by rage.

"No, let me go!" he roared. "Let me kill him! He tried to kill your sister! _He hurt my brother!_ "

"Dwalin, NO!"

Now it was Thorin's turn to shout. He could feel Dwalin's muscles bulging against the grip of his hand and it became harder by the moment to restrain him. He had always known that his friend could be terrible in his wrath, but he had never seen him this way before. Dwalin seemed barely able to understand his words, his eyes fixed solely on the whimpering dwarf in front of him who was now bound by the guards that had stormed into the room behind them. Thorin felt a similar fury bubbling up inside him when he thought about his little sister getting hurt, or, even worse, killed. But strangely enough he found himself able to contain his anger unlike the times before - maybe it was the sight of his friend in such emotional turmoil that enabled him to overcome his own temper. There would be time to lose himself later.

He tightened his grip around Dwalin's arms once again and tried to pull him back, away from the mad dwarrow who was now frozen in his movements and let the guards take him away willingly.

"Breathe." he whispered the same words at Dwalin that the tall dwarrow had used to call him back from his own self-destroying rage not so long ago.

"Come back."

He could feel the warrior stiffen slightly at the sound of his familiar words. His arms went lax and he slowly pushed Thorin away from him. When he turned around, his chest was heaving under his heavy breaths, hand balled to a fist and a murderous fury still in his eyes. But his movements appeared calm and measured now as he slowly walked past the remaining guards and out of the room. The only sign betraying his state of mind was a slight tremble in the fingers of his hand that clutched the hilt of his axe so firmly as if he wanted to break it.

Thorin briefly battled with himself whether he should follow Dwalin or leave him be. But his thoughts were interrupted by steps outside the room. He turned around and saw both his father and grandfather enter, with Nár trailing not far behind.

"What happened?" His father's voice sounded collected, but the spark of anger and a fear that had just passed showed his tone nonetheless. Thorin found his posture stiffen slightly, close to adopting the stance of a soldier reporting to his superiors.

"The attacker fled to this room and after we broke down the door, Dwalin overwhelmed him. They took him away just before he arrived."

Thráin nodded and turned around, evidently to follow the guard and see the dwarrow for himself who had attacked his daughter and kin with the clear intentions of killing.

"Who was he?" Underlying Thrór's tired words was the disbelieving question of what madness had possessed someone of their own race to try and assassinate a member of the royal family and their youngest one at that. Thorin shook his head; he had tried to puzzle out the same question before on their way here and come to no conclusion. A political motive for the attempt made no sense - such a one would have been aimed more likely at him or his father, not Dís and was absurd in their current circumstances anyway. Likewise a personal grudge would have been aimed at other members of their family, as would have been claims for revenge over past grievances.

"I don't know." he answered honestly. "He was clearly one of the refugees from Erebor. He made the impression that he was...confused, in a sense, but still very aware of what he was doing. I guess we will have to ask him and see for ourselves once the trial begins."

Thráin furrowed his brow at the mention of a trial, but made no argument against it. Thorin idly wondered whether there was a fury inside his father that nobody saw, such as within himself and Dwalin. He himself had to quench the urge to go to the attacker's cell and express his own anger at the attempt on his sister's life with more than just words. But such mindless rage would do nobody good, not his family, nor the observing guards or himself in the end. And so he reigned in his temper once more and instead decided to look after Balin and his own siblings instead.

Frerin had arrived at the scene in the meantime as well, Varna and her husband in tow. He carried Dís on his arm when Thorin arrived whilst Balin's mother was hugging her son, careful not to put any more pressure on his wound. Wordlessly Thorin embraced his siblings, sparing another moment to murmur a prayer to the Maker under his breath to thank Him that nobody had come to real harm.

He noticed that Dwalin was still nowhere to be seen and felt a slight tug of worry in his stomach. He knew better than most what such anger inside could do to a dwarf and for the first time he truly understood the worry in Dwalin's and Frerin's eyes whenever he had refused to share his own burden. But he knew as well that a few hours of loneliness could do much good for clearing a muddled head and calming the throbbing anger in your veins and so he resolved to leave his friend to whatever he was doing for a while longer.

Dwalin didn't reappear for lunch or supper, however, and Thorin found himself increasingly worried. And not only him - nobody of his family had seen him after the morning either and he could see the nervous agitation in Balin's movements and weariness in Varna's eyes as she asked after the whereabouts of her second son again. After their evening meal they quietly agreed to search for him.

Thorin's first stop was at the practise courts they had visited this morning, now all but deserted with the exception of a few guards dedicated to their weapons training. Balin had agreed to look through the lower level where the kitchens and most of the storage rooms were located, as well as the holding cells. Varna was searching outside amongst the houses scattered around the entrance to the Halls of the Iron Hills. That left the smithies and other dwarves' workshops to Thorin and he diligently made his way from room to room.

It was him who found Dwalin in the end.

The tall dwarf was holed up in a small workshop at the end of the hallway where he was diligently swinging a large hammer to pound on a piece of glowing iron in front of him. One look at the metal told Thorin that the piece (if there had ever been one in the first place) was utterly ruined - Dwalin didn't seem too intent on creating at the moment. He leaned against the doorway and watched for a while, not knowing if his friend was deliberately ignoring him or had simply not noticed his approach under the clang of the hammer hitting the metal in front of him.

"I haven't seen you smithing in a long time."

Thorin had to raise his voice for it to override the noise of Dwalin's work. The tall dwarf stilled in his movements, hammer caught awkwardly in the air before he set it down carefully next to him. Thorin noticed that there was soot on his brow and his bare arms. Unsure of what to say next, he waited for a reply, but Dwalin simply shrugged.

For a few uncomfortable moments neither of them spoke. The Dwalin sighed, the tension finally draining out of his body.

"I would have killed him." he said, his voice barely more than a low grumble. "If you hadn't held me back there, I would have killed him without a second thought."

Thorin moved from his place at the doorframe and walked towards him.

"But I did hold you back and so you didn't."

Dwalin shuddered slightly in reply. It wasn't only that his brother had been hurt when he hadn't been there to protect him - it was also the fact that he had never before felt rage overwhelm him so utterly that he had almost forgotten himself. He had discovered a part of his own being that he had not known to exist before and it frightened him, frightened him more than he would ever be able to put into words.

"What if it happens again?" he was unable to meet Thorin's eyes. "What if my rage becomes so strong, so utterly overwhelming that I don't know friend from foe anymore and end up hurting that which means most to me?"

"Then I will be there to hold you back again, my friend."

Thorin stood right in front of him now and without hesitation he reached up and brought Dwalin's forehead down to rest against his own. The taller dwarrow closed his eyes, leaning into the touch, and when he opened them again he finally found the courage to meet Thorin's own. The unconditional trust and promise of friendship he saw reflected in them started to tear down the bricks that fear and shame had built around his soul, bit by bit. He knew that it would take time for them to be fully be gone and that the stubbornness of their line wouldn't make it easy for the both of them, but it was a start. And a good one at that.

*

The trial took place two days later after the dwarrow's identity was clear. His name was Rólvur and he had no living close relatives that had fled to the Iron Hills with him; his mother and grandparents had all passed away, two of them in the fire that had destroyed Erebor. His father's whereabouts were unknown and his wife and little daughter had perished in the dragon's flames as well. Thorin could not help but feel pity at the sight of him, his beard and hair ragged and torn out in chunks and eyes haunted by madness stemming from unbearable terror and loss.

Grór was presiding over the trial. Though a brother to the former King Under the Mountain, it was felt that he and the other members of his folk were removed far enough from Dís and Balin to serve as just judges in this case. Thorin had felt Dwalin stiffen slightly beside him when they had brought in the assailant and he knew how his own gaze had likely hardened at his sight. The tension was thick in the room and most of the Ereborean refugees had come to watch.

Balin and Dís were the only direct witnesses to the attack and as such their hearing moved fast. The recounting of the events after the assault that led to the culprit's arrest was more complicated - every single guardsman was bidden to bring forward his version and Thorin and Dwalin themselves were asked to report their own encounters.

Dwalin's voice wavered only ever so slightly when he talked about how he had overwhelmed Rólvur and Thorin tried to somehow will his own strength into his friend's mind as he spoke. He gave him a slight nod once Dwalin stepped back into the row of the accusers next to him.

The attacker had remained silent throughout the entire trial, eyes cast down to the floor and not a single muscle moving on his body. Dwalin didn't know what was worse - the absolute lifelessness he displayed now, even as one of the scribes read out the facts of his life story or if he would have been raging with madness and struggling against his bonds. Only when he was asked for his defence and reason for the attack did he talk.

Dwalin almost recoiled at the sound of his voice - it was brittle like rusty metal and so utterly devoid of life as he had never heard anything before.

"She deserved to die. I wanted to make them see, wanted to make them feel...my little Íth is gone and so are Ingvá and all the others. Why is the royal family still alive? Why are they showing no grief even though the Lady Sigvór died? I wanted to show them what it felt like for us, what it felt like to have their most precious thing ripped out of their middle, all because of a king's greed and madness!"

His voice had gained in volume during the last sentences, its lifelessness slowly becoming replaced by increased agitation. The last words he shouted into their faces, defiance now plain on his features.

Dwalin heard a sharp intake of breath next to him and saw Thorin's hands clench around the hilt of his sword. He knew that the accusation they wouldn't mourn their mother hurt deeply when their family had quietly struggled with their grief during the last days. He longed to grip Thorin's arm in quiet consolation and to quench his own fury again, but he knew that such a gesture would be highly inappropriate with such an amount of dwarrows assembled and looking at them.

There were gasps in the audience at the words, but less outrage than Dwalin would have liked to see. Although always loyal to their king, many of them shared the feeling about Thrór's madness and that his hoarding of gold had done its part in attracting the dragon.

If the dwarf had voiced his accusations in a civil manner, there would likely have been no consequences. But trying to take another dwarrow's life was a crime against the Maker himself and inexcusable. It was only worsened by the fact that he had tried to kill one of their youngest - dwarf children were not many in the best of times and their lives were considered even more sacred than everyone else's. To try and take them away, even if it was in madness...there was no crime considered more severe.

As such, there was not much debate amongst the judges as to the punishment to be extracted. Only rarely did the dwarrows execute the culprits of a crime - usually the sentence was imprisonment. In severe cases such as this one, the fate of the culprit was put in the hands of the Maker himself. They were named 'The Marked Ones', a small rune tattooed at the base of their neck and then sent out into the wilderness with no weapons or food for themselves, their beards and hair cropped short to mark them as punished and forbid anybody to talk to them. If the Maker judged a culprit worthy of his mercy, he would let him live until his hair and beard had grown back and his sins would be counted as forgiven. If not, then the blood of the life taken would not be on the judge's hands, freeing them from any taint of taking a life they might have acquired otherwise.

A murmur went through the assembled crowd as the verdict was spoken. Dwalin could feel that at least a few considered the sentence too hard, but he could not find it within himself to agree. It was not only punishment for the despicable deed that Rólvur had planned and the injury he had dealt a distant member of the royal line, but also a warning to all others that might harbour similar traitorous thoughts. A lack of home didn't mean a lack of rules.

The Line of Durin listened to the sentence in stony silence. Even Dís was quiet, one of her hands in Frerin's, as they took Rólvur away to exact the punishment on him. They left the assembly Hall not long after, retiring early to their quarters that night. But Dwalin sensed the restlessness in Thorin's movements and knew that none of them would get much sleep.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every time I think about Thráin I get sad. His POV proved to be relatively hard to write, but at the same time I really wanted to do so! On a different note - in this chapter Thorin gets a not-so-nice lesson about the damage too much pride and a thinly-veiled temper can do. 
> 
> Also, slight warning for in-universe speciesism in this chapter. I promise they will also meet much nicer people in the future.

"We need to leave."

Thráin glanced over to his oldest son from his workplace. Thorin was standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest and a stern look on his face. Thráin noticed that his son still kept his beard cropped short to honour both his mother and the other fallen of their folk.

With a sigh, the former King Under the Mountain's son put down his quill and the documents he had been working on. He rubbed his eye which had become tired from the low light of the candles around him and turned around to face his heir.

"And why should we do so in the middle of winter?"

Thorin's scowl was dark and his voice took on an annoyed tone as he replied.

"You saw what happened a few days ago. What tells us that Rólvur was the only one harbouring such thoughts and acting on them?"

Thráin resisted the urge to sigh again.

"Grór has already forced additional guards on us and all of us are more aware of the danger now. I don't think it's likely to happen a second time."

He could see the anger flame up in his son's eyes before it was subdued again after a heartbeat. Those were some of the moments that he missed Sigvór the most - she had always known how to handle Thorin and his siblings best, how to soothe his temper and draw a smile from him. All he himself could do was to watch, to hope that the anger would burn out itself.

Thráin knew that his son was hoping for some sort of physical comfort and reassurance from him and he wished he could give what he asked for. In contrast to his children, however, he had never truly learned how to show affection and Sigvór's death and those of so many of their kinsmen invoked in him no real desire for closeness. Instead he found that he regained most of his inner peace by withdrawing and burying himself in work, his only company the ghost of his One's voice in his mind. Every time he saw the lost look on his children's faces he wished it would be different.

"And what if it will?" his son demanded to know. "Do you want to be the one responsible? Could you watch your own family get hurt or die? Because I know I wouldn't be able to do so."

_But what do you care about your own family after all?_ Those words seemed to be buried beneath the accusing tone of Thorin's voice. For a moment he sounded like a young dwarfling again, hurt and lonely. It made Thráin's heart swell with pain. He was of Durin's Line, however, and as in all of its members, pain often turned to anger - although it took Thráin a lot to get furious, much more so than his hot-headed son. But now he could feel it welling up inside him as well, the anger at the fact that Thorin presumed he was the only one harbouring such thoughts.

"Don't you think that I worry, too?" His voice became louder. _Don't you think that I haven't woken up countless times from a nightmare since the dragon came where not only my wife, but all my children are dead, too?_ He bit his tongue before he could utter those words, the voice of his father ever in his mind that told him that no future king of the royal line should give in to and show such emotions easily, not even in front of their own family. Strange how the Maker's Hands had chosen Thrór of all dwarves to be the one falling victim to madness, let him be the one where their line's curse showed so strongly.

"Yes, I agree that we have to leave. But we should do so with preparation and once the winter is over. Grór has agreed to accept those of our folk willing to stay here as long as they do their part of the work. Nobody else will be forced to come with us."

Thráin hoped his son would see reason and understand the choice behind his words. Thorin's hands had balled into fists, fingers clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white and his eyes were still aflame.

"But-"

"Enough." Thráin's rebuttal came out as almost a snarl and something inside him recoiled at the sharpness of his own voice. He hadn't meant the word to sound quite so harsh. He tried to soften his tone, but the hurt in his son's eyes at him being rebuked like a simple child didn't vanish. It made Thráin's soul sting.

"I understand your concerns, Thorin. But a wild dash into the winter outside will help no one, least of all ourselves. As a future king, your decisions should be guided by thoughtfulness, not rash feelings or the burning temper in your heart."

His son didn't press the issue further, but neither did he acknowledge Thráin's offer for peace. With a last, slightly disappointed look on his face he turned around and left his father alone to return to brood once again over his scriptures.

*

The royal family and their kin remained in the Iron Hills throughout the winter, planning their departure for as soon as spring would set in, just as Thráin had suggested. The last weeks in their temporary home were anything but pleasant - ever since the incident with Rólvur the atmosphere had changed. A fine sense of paranoia was hanging over almost everything Thorin did and slowly rubbed off on the rest of them. A rift had started to open between the royal family, their close kin and the other Ereborean fugitives and the mood was darkening by the day.

Superficially not much changed in the daily rhythms of them all - Varna was still teaching Frerin part of her craft, Balin was busy with history and writing and often took Dís with him and Thorin and Dwalin spent as much time together in the practise courts than they did in the smithies - but now there was an unknown edge to most of their actions. Frerin's laughter seemed to be almost the only thing that had remained unchanged, but even his mood seemed to be oddly dampened at times.

In truth, particularly he and Thorin felt like they were being held up in a cage - it seemed as if there was simply no space in the Iron Hills for two ruling families and although Thrór never dabbled in his brother's affairs, it was still palpable that they would have to leave sooner or later if they had no intention to take over their kin's reign. The feeling that they didn't belong grew stronger every day and although neither of them was particularly looking forward to a life as homeless wanderers on the road, they all couldn't quite subdue a feeling of relief when they finally left the confines of the Iron Hills.

There were fifteen members in their small company when they finally made their way south. Most of the refugees from Erebor had relatives in the Iron Hills and were weary of wandering when there was no promise of a safe home at the end of the journey. Others wanted to stay in the Grór's kingdom for a while longer to recover from the mental and physical aftermath of the dragon's attack before they ventured out to find a new home themselves.

Additionally to all the members of the royal family, Nár would accompany and support his king. Hulda and her son Dori had also agreed to come, for there were no immediate relatives of theirs to be found in the Iron Hills. Farin took from his sons, their wives and their grandchildren the promise that they would send for him as soon as they had found a new home and place to live - the sadness and frustration in the old dwarrow's eyes was palpable, but he was wise enough to listen to his kin when they pointed out that his slowly declining health would be under much more danger on the road.

Their departure didn't need much organisation: supplies were packed quickly with food enough to last them for the first several weeks if they took enough care. Grór provided them with enough ponies to carry them and their packages. The personal belongings they had left from the dragon's attack were much too few to require a long time of packing or much space.

They had decided on south as their direction of travel since the lands to the east were unknown, to the west were Erebor and Mirkwood and to the north were nothing but memories and the terror of another drake buried in the Grey Mountains. Thrór's shivers when the images of his father and brother dying haunted his mind were more than answer enough to the idea of trying their luck with their old settlements.

The first two weeks were remarkably uneventful and they quickly became used to a life on the road. Not being pressured by time or other concerns they had enough resources to see to their ponies properly and not overexerting them like travelling without rest would do. They avoided the first villages they came by, having enough supplies not to have to deal with men yet. So close to the settlement of the Iron Hills attacks of orc troops were unlikely; yet they kept a steady watch and wary eye on their surroundings at all times.

The further south they were riding the wilder did the terrain become, traces of settlements vanishing almost completely apart from the odd small village. Talk was sparse between them, although the atmosphere was not particularly unfriendly and the occasional laughter wafted through the air more than once on a day. It was Varna who taught them many a useful skill for surviving on the road and she found apt pupils in her own sons, the heirs of the king and young Dori and Óin. The days passed in peace and there were no hardships in particular that could have set them on edge. The snow had soon melted and the spring sun warmed most of their days now. Dwalin thought to himself that if their travels would continue like this it would have been a far more pleasant task than they had first imagined.

As if on cue, the weather turned awry the next day - rain and a cold wind from the north bringing sleet during the night had them shivering soon enough despite their thick furs and oiled leathers. Their supplies were slowly dwindling too and it wasn't long until they quietly agreed that they should seek food and eventually even shelter in the next village they came across. Although Dwalin could see how it hurt his friend's pride, he, Varna and Thorin offered to take smithing work on if there was any to be had in exchange for money and provisions. Thrór frowned at their suggestion and that a prince would dirty his hands for the sake of their survival, but Thorin rightly pointed out that there might be a time when they needed their coin more so it would do good to pay in manual labour as often as they could.

Shouldering some of their tools, the three of them made their way towards the human settlement. The village was small, nothing more than a few dozen wooden houses and huts clustered together at the edge of a forest. There was a guard at the open entrance gate who eyed them suspiciously from far away already and stopped them before they could set foot into the village.

"What business does folk like you have in this town?"

There wasn't a single ounce of friendliness in his voice and Thorin could feel his temper flare up. He had dealt with the men in Dale and even Laketown before, but they had been used to dwarrows and with time, sympathy had grown between their folks. He heard that Dale had been completely destroyed and Lord Girion had found his death amongst the dragon's destruction after unsuccessfully trying to kill the beast. He had felt pity and sympathy with their former allies at the thought, but had barely any feelings to spare in face of the hardship of their own folk. The men here, however, were entirely different from their kinfolk in Dale - dressed in dark colours and with unkempt hair they looked like their lives consisted of nothing but hardship.

"We are travellers and offering our services in exchange for coin and provisions." Thorin still managed to keep his tone polite despite the barely veiled insult that had underlined the man's words.

The guard grunted.

"Won't find no work here, at least not for the likes of you." When he caught the almost murderous glint in Dwalin's eyes he was quick to add: "But you're welcome to try."

It was all Thorin could do not to lose his temper and force out a "Our thanks." between his teeth.

The man at the gate had been right - many a suspicious glance was cast at them as they made their way down the main street in search of the local smithy and murmurs erupted all around them. When they finally found the blacksmith's little shop it was barely more than a little shed with a roof over it. Thorin and Dwalin traded wary glances; even the poorest of dwarrows would have better workplaces for, as an old saying went, you could judge a dwarrow's heart by the state of his forge. Evidently the same was not true for men or they had indeed come to the wrong place.

The smith was a short, burly man who stared down at the three dwarves at the entrance to his shop with both disgust and astonishment. His expression soon turned into an ugly sneer as Thorin voiced their offer.

"And how could such creatures like you be of any help?" he asked. "You're as short as my son and I bet that even he has more strength or skill than you."

Thorin could almost hear Dwalin bristle behind him like a cat at the insult and had a hard time reigning in his own fury. They never should have come here. He knew he should have simply turned his back and left for there was nothing to say that could sway the man's opinion, but his own pride and that of his people were suddenly running hotly through his veins.

"Then the race of men has indeed fallen low if they do not even recognise the value of dwarven handiwork anymore." he bellowed, certainly a bit louder than necessary.

Dwalin behind him said nothing, but his anger was an almost visible black cloud in the air. Varna, however, let out a quiet sigh at the display of arrogance on both sides in front of her.

"We should leave." she said quietly. She could see that neither their headstrong prince nor the smith would relent easily and none of them would apologize. If they stayed any longer it could end in brawl and her own son was more than likely to just make matters worse by participating. Varna also knew that it was not in her authority to command the king's heir and so she prayed to the Maker that he would see reason.

Thorin might not have heeded her words, but Dwalin did and he placed a hand on the shoulder of his friend, seeing the value in his mother's suggestion.

"Let's go, Thorin." he rumbled. "He doesn't deserve what we have to offer anyway."

With a low growl at the base of his throat Thorin turned away, just to set a brisk pace down the road which betrayed his still lingering anger with every step he was taking. Varna wondered what had the men in such a foul mood - it could not only have been the weather even though the continuing rain and sudden cold could dampen everybody's spirits. Maybe they had never seen dwarves before, were wary of strangers in general or had had the unfortunate luck to deal with those of their folk who were of a less savoury nature than most of them. It didn't matter, for in the end the outcome was all the same to them.

Before they could leave the village again they remembered that they were still short on supplies. Thorin grudgingly admitted that they would have to spare a few coins to buy themselves provisions - none of them felt the desire anymore to go as far as finding lodgings for the night, but they were still in dire need of food other than the meat they had hunted over the last days.

The market place was almost deserted in the rain and after some searching they spotted a small shop at the corner that seemed to be the major source for food in the village together with the butcher's store they had seen before. Since there was no mill in the settlement, they assumed that they would be able to purchase flour and all else they needed from the shop's owner who now stared at them with the same suspicious glare the smith had treated them with earlier.

Thorin took a deep breath and held Varna back with a gesture of his hand, displaying the easy confidence that seemed to come so natural to the young ones of the royal line. She hoped he had calmed down enough to at least make a polite enquiry and not simply demand wares from the grocer. To her surprise Thorin's voice was calm and polite enough when he asked for the things they needed although she was sure that his fury was still simmering beneath the surface, ready to break through every moment.

It didn't take long.

The grocer bade them wait and disappeared into a storage room at the back. Just when they started wondering at how long he had been gone, he returned accompanied by two younger men, one of which was carrying their wares and unceremoniously dropped them on the floor next to them. Varna bent down to inspect what they had brought, but one of the men slapped her hand aside before she could open the bag presumably containing the flour.

"Payment first." he growled.

Dwalin hissed and took a step forward. Without looking, Varna placed a hand on his arm to hold her son back from attacking the man and nodded to Thorin to tell him that there was no harm done. Dwalin stiffened under her touch, but stopped in his tracks although his hand remained firmly closed around the hilt of his axe. Thorin's eyes had narrowed considerably, but he took out his pouch of oiled leather anyway and started to count out coins onto the grocer's wooden table.

The man frowned at the sight of the small pieces of copper and silver.

"What is this?" he demanded to know.

"Your payment." Thorin pressed out between clenched teeth.

"Never seen coins like that before. Doesn't look like proper money to me, does it, boys?"

The atmosphere in the room seemed to take a plunge into ice water as soon as the words had left his lips. Dwalin snarled and Thorin's voice was trembling with barely suppressed fury as he answered.

"These are solid pieces of copper and silver from our own land and more than enough to pay for your overpriced goods."

The man sputtered at the accusation.

"Overpriced? You can be glad that I'm selling you bastards anything at all! Next thing I know you will cut my throat and make off with your false money and half of my belongings stolen from me!"

Varna could almost hear the paper-thin wall around Thorin's temper give way. In less than a heartbeat he had grabbed the shirtfront of the grocer and hauled him down to the level of his own face.

"How DARE you accuse us, descendants of the great Durin himself, of thievery and worse!" he snapped. His next words were cut short by a shout behind him as one of the two men the grocer had brought with him wanted to lunge at Thorin just to be stopped by an axe a hand's width away from his groin. The second man halted his movements as well as he caught Varna's threatening glare, her own axe ready in her hands. Thorin, in the meanwhile, wasn't finished, his frustration and anger that had piled up over the last minutes pouring out of him.

"We have done nothing to insult you and yet you treat us like common beggars! May the Maker curse you and your entire village! "

The grocer's face had gradually reddened with every single one of Thorin's words until he seemed to be ready to explode. He grabbed Thorin's arm (not before pocketing the money that the prince had already given him, however), trying to unsuccessfully force the dwarrow's hand away from his shirt.

"Who hasn't heard of the greed and falsehood of dwarves yet? According to rumours it was so great that the gods themselves sent a dragon to destroy them!"

Thorin froze for a single moment. Then his fist collided with the man's jaw and sent him reeling backwards until he collapsed in a stunned heap on the floor. Varna suppressed a curse at both the man's insolence and their prince's pride and stepped into the second man's way who had been about to grab Thorin from behind, threatening him by lifting the sharp side of her axe up to his neck.

The door to the shop flew open and suddenly the three dwarrows found themselves faced with more than half a dozen angry men, who, attracted by the ruckus, had come to help the grocer and now looked like they were ready for murder as they saw the scene unfolding in front of them. And judging by Thorin's heavy breathing and the way Dwalin's lips curled up in disgust the two of them were only too willing to take them up on the offer. Varna briefly closed her eyes and prayed her insolence would be forgiven.

"We leave." she said harshly."Now."

The tone worked on her son, as it always did, but Thorin looked ready to fight tooth and nail to defend what was left of their honour.

"NOW." she repeated, louder.

Their decision was facilitated by the sound of several knives being drawn and the smith's voice shouting from further down the streets.

"Yes, those are the ones! The insolent beggars insulted and threatened me without good cause!"

Varna let out a quick curse in Khuzdul under her breath which resulted in a shocked glance from her son's side. Then she took the axe of the man's neck in front of her, turned around and marched towards the small crowd that had started gathering on the doorstep of the grocer's house. Thorin let out a low growl before he followed her, sword now drawn and ready to strike. After a moment she could hear Dwalin's footsteps as well.

It was almost a miracle that they made it through the assembled humans without getting attacked. Despite their wrath, they seemed to have enough respect for the sharpness of the dwarves' weapons and the grimness in their eyes. Insults and the occasional bout of spit flew after them and to keep an even pace on their way out of the village took all of the three dwarrow's strength and self-control.

When they were out of sight of the village's gate they realised that they had left both the coins and the goods behind. With a frustrated yell Thorin rammed his sword back into its scabbard, stopping for a moment to take in a few gulps of fresh air and calm himself. Varna took a deep breath before she addressed him.

"Prince Thorin." Such a formality was not her usual habit, but she felt it was necessary at the moment.

"I apologise for speaking so bluntly before. I had no place to do so and hope you will forgive my insolence in the matter. I merely did what I thought was best to ensure our imminent well-being."

Dwalin glanced over to her but remained quiet. He rightly felt that this was an issue he had no say in. Thorin closed his eyes and visibly tried to compose himself before he answered.

"There is nothing to forgive, Lady Varna. I myself have to apologise for letting my temper get away." His words were clipped and short, still frayed by the rest of his fury bubbling beneath it, but there was nonetheless honesty in them.

Varna gave him a small smile and a quick bow of her head to acknowledge his words, leaving it to her son to grab Thorin's shoulder and squeeze it reassuringly.

The three of them continued their short way to the camp the rest of their company had set up, dreading the moment when they had to tell them just how badly their trip had ended.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the slight delay - between my MA and the beginning preparations for [Dworin Week](http://mainecoon76.tumblr.com/post/86891479523/dworin-week-prompt-post) in my fanfiction folder this took a bit longer than expected. I'm afraid this is also more or less a filler chapter before shit gets real in the next one again ;).

Their return to the camp was about as bad as Thorin had imagined.

One look at their faces was enough for the others to see that their little venture inside the settlement had not ended well - all three of returning dwarrows were quiet, Varna with an angry glint in her eyes, Dwalin still seething and Thorin's expression alternating between shame and fury.

It was Thorin's duty as the leader of their little group to report exactly what had happened - how they had been met with nothing but animosity and disdain and how his own temper had played a role in them coming back not only without supplies, but also without some of their coins. Thorin didn't spare himself any shame, leaving out none of the details of their ill-fated venture.

When he had finished, he was met by silence. It was both better and worse than what he had expected - he had thought that his father would rage, that he would accuse him of failing them and being an unworthy heir. Instead there was only an immense weariness in his father's eyes and a disappointment so strong it stung like a knife's blade in his heart.

They weren't starving, not yet - during their absence, the others had been successful at hunting and brought back a small amount of game, enough to fill their stomachs at least to a certain degree. They had, however, no idea how far away the next settlement was and their luck at hunting was not always guaranteed. Thorin felt a dreadful feeling settling in the middle of his chest that they would have to hunger again before the next few days were over.

The silence of their small company held throughout most of the evening. Thorin barely felt any hunger despite the long day that was behind them and passed most of his portion off to his younger siblings. It earned him a slightly worried glare from Frerin and an almost unnoticeable headshake from Balin, but he pointedly ignored them both.

It wasn't until after they had finished their meagre meal and Thorin had withdrawn under the relative cover of the tree furthest from their pitiful fire that Frerin made a second attempt to confront him.

Thorin didn't even hear him approach, so absorbed had he been with the sharpening of one of his knives, despite the futility of what he was doing. The blade was already as sharp as it could ever get. Frerin's hand on his arm gently forced the whetstone away from the weapon and then he lowered himself onto the ground next to his big brother.

"You promised to talk to me, brother, don't you remember?"

A pained smile and apologetic glance were the only answer he received from Thorin. Frerin sighed. A stone wall was nothing in hardness compared to his stubborn brother's head. He tried again.

"Won't you come closer to the fire? The night is going to be cold again."

Thorin shook his head, eyes again firmly trained on his own hands. At least he had put the whetstone and his knife away.

"I would rather stay here for the time being." he finally replied gruffly.

Frerin suppressed another sigh and put his hand on his brother's shoulder. The sight of Thorin flinching ever so slightly at the touch, as if he didn't feel _worthy_ of it, grated at his heart.

"Thorin. A single mistake doesn't make you a bad leader or a bad person." Frerin felt like he had uttered the same sentence a hundred times already. Sometimes it was tiring that his brother always insisted on blaming every mistake, even those not of his own doing, on himself and Frerin often ran out of words to say. But Thorin was his _brother_ and he would never give up on him, no matter how heavily the mantle of impending kingship and his own pride were bearing down on his mind.

"But it still cost us dearly today." Thorin whispered, wearily eyeing the dwindled amount of their supplies and the faces of the youngest of their group on the other side of the fire.

"And the next time you will do better. Wasn't it you who always told me that more often than not, we learn more from our mistakes than we could from our victories?"

Frerin smiled at his brother and was rewarded with a quiet chuckle in the end.

"Sounds more like something Balin or Fundin would say."

"Isn't it true all the same though?"

To this Thorin could only reply with a tired smile and a heaviness in his heart that nearly made him choke.

"It might be in many cases, yes, but not if the lives of others depend on it. There is simply _no room_ for me to make mistakes such as these. Not now, not here."

Frerin sighed, feeling his frustration grow, fostered by his own weariness. Maybe his brother's mood, though unlikely, would lift itself again the next day after he had spent an entire evening mulling over it. With a last squeeze of Thorin's shoulder he stood up and made his way back to the others - not, however, without throwing Dwalin a glance and subtly signalling into Thorin's direction. Maybe the gruff dwarrow could do what he could not.

Dwalin caught the look from Frerin's eyes and knew its meaning well enough. With a quiet sigh he hoisted himself upwards and slowly walked over to where his friend was sitting motionless now under the relative protection of a tree's foliage, leaning against the bark. Dwalin sat down onto the ground next to him, watching how the light of the fire was reflected by no more than a glint in Thorin's darkening eyes. He knew that there were barely any words that could rip Thorin out of his brooding if Frerin had failed, but that wasn't his goal.

Instead of talking, he remained quiet, hoping that silence would carry all that he was unable to express in words. A burden shared was still a burden, albeit a lighter one, he hoped. Shuffling around, he finally pulled his pipe out under the various layers of clothing and a small bag of pipe weed he had obtained in the Iron Hills, to be used only in exceptional circumstances. Knowing that Thorin always had his own pipe on him he simply held out the little bag in his friend's direction, his heart warming at the spark of amusement flaring up in the prince's eyes.

Thorin didn't ask where the pipe weed had come from or why Dwalin was handing it to him; instead he just accepted the gesture as what it was - friendship. They sat smoking in companionable silence as darkness slowly descended around them. The dreaded mixture of sleet and rain didn't stop and although the trees around them kept most of it away from them, the cold was slowly seeping into their bones and through their clammy skin. Thorin's ire and shame, however, were also draining out of him bit by bit and his posture was much more relaxed now than it had been when Dwalin had originally sat down next to him.

When Frerin called out for Thorin to help him with Dís, he heeded his brother's call this time. With a small, but thankful smile on his lips for Dwalin, he strode over to the fire to huddle with his two siblings under the thick furs they had brought with them to put over their bedrolls and ward off the cold.

*

Like many other children and youths from Erebor Dori had been forced to grow up almost overnight when the dragon had come and destroyed their home. His father had been lost to the beast's fire as well as his grandmother, he and his mother Hulda escaping only by sheer luck. They had no more living close relatives, neither amongst the refugees nor in the Iron Hills and thus the decision to follow their king and his kin on the journey had been an easy one. They had been welcomed warmly - Hulda's skill with needle and thread was almost legendary and she had often had a hand in the fashioning of the royal clothes.

Dori, being only a few years older than Dís, was yet too young to be allowed by his mother to use the tiny sharp needles that were part of her craft, but he already practised with the blunt equivalents with great fervour. Still, he often felt rather useless on their trek south - old enough to have developed a heavy sense of duty, but yet too young to truly be of use yet in his mind.

Not long after the ill-fated venture to the settlement of men, Dori decided that it was time to make himself useful. He resolved to talk to Balin and ask how he could help - for Balin seemed to be the least intimidating of his travelling companions. Dori had tried to talk to Thorin before, but found himself utterly unable to speak a single word under the prince's gaze. His nervousness had let to him fiddling with his braids and his utter embarrassment just had made things worse as the darkening scowl on Thorin's brow indicated. He had stumbled away in the end, not seeing the slightly desperate expression in Thorin's face who hadn't noticed just how intimidating his looks could be on a young dwarfling.

Balin, in contrast, appeared to be much friendlier and welcomed Dori with a smile on his weary face when the young dwarrow approached hesitantly. His smile only grew warmer when Dori told him that he would like to help somehow but wasn't quite sure yet what he could do for the travelling company. After some thinking he waved to where his brother was sitting with the royal siblings, beckoning him to come over with the princess in tow.

Dori shrank back; Dwalin was already intimidating by his size alone and his slightly gruff demeanour and affinity for weapons did nothing to disperse that image. Yet his grip on Dís' hand was gentle as he and the youngest of the Line of Durin walked up to Balin.

"What is it?" the tall dwarf demanded to know from his brother.

"I thought that we could take the young ones out to collect some fire wood and see if we find some edible plants as well." Balin explained to him.

"Aye, sounds like a good idea to me." Dwalin agreed. "I'll let the others know where we are going. Should we take young Óin along too?"

"Ah yes." It seemed only fair to include Gróin's son in their little venture as well, Balin thought. After all, the more hands and eyes, the better.

They set off into the woods surrounding them only a few minutes later. Finding wood dry enough not to be completely drenched by the rain proved no easy task, but amongst the five of them they slowly collected enough wood to keep their fire going for at least another night. Varna had taught her sons the bare minimum of the small amount of herb knowledge she possessed and so they were all the more surprised when Óin demonstrated as much understanding of edible plants than they had, if not more. It was clear that the young dwarrow would one day surely make a great healer.

Balin and Dís soon remained behind with Óin, deciding to focus solely on the vegetation they could bring back to stock up on their supplies. Dwalin and Dori were trudging on, intent on bringing as much wood back as they could. Once the young dwarfling had noticed that Dwalin was no threat to him and could, beneath the surface, be just as friendly as his older brother, Dori never seemed to stop talking.

"...and then, Mister Dwalin, my mother told me that I shouldn't take the red thread because it would be terribly at odds with the light green further down and they wanted it to look good even from afar. So I chose the brown instead and she told me it was a good choice and that I would yet make a good tailor, and..."

Dori's chatter went on faster and faster the longer he was talking and slowly Dwalin wished that somebody else would have taken Dori with them. Suddenly the prospect of braining himself on the next tree seemed to be an almost desirable option. Then, however, he noticed that the lad carefully avoided any topic to do with the dragon or their exile and his heart immediately softened; Dori had lost a father after all and his mother her husband and every standing they might have had. He could tell that nobody had really listened to the lad for a long time despite his mother and that it did Dori a world of good to talk to someone even if it was only about the most mundane of events.

The stream of cheerful chattering eventually subsided and Dori was quiet for the moment. Dwalin bent down to pick up another branch from the forest ground and when he straightened his back again Dori was standing in front of him, looking into his face with an earnest expression that would have almost been comical if it weren't for the spark of fire in his eyes.

"Mister Dwalin?" he asked.

"Yes, what is it lad?" Dwalin tried to make his voice soft and reassuring.

"When I grow up I want to be as strong and big as you, so that I can protect Ma and the others!"

Dwalin had to bite back a small laugh at the sincerity with which Dori spoke the words. Instead he chuckled and ruffled the young dwarf's hair with his hand, careful not to mess up his braids too much.

"Aye m'lad, I'm sure you will. But to grow up you will need to eat and to have proper food we will need a fire. And to light a fire we need wood. So how about we continue and collect some more of it, hm?"

"Yes!" Dori was practically beaming with pride at Dwalin's barely veiled praise and the tall dwarf had to suppress another chuckle. From this moment on Dwalin felt that Dori was much more at ease amongst his own company, eventually even warming up to the royal siblings, especially Dís and Frerin.

A few days afterwards they came across another village. This time they didn't even try to get smithing work after a quick look at the apprehensive expressions of those they met. Thorin took Balin with him and let him do most of the talking, knowing that it would be easier for him to keep his tongue and pride in check if he wasn't required to do the dealings himself. Observing Balin he once again marvelled at the natural ease with which the dwarrow seemed to handle diplomacy. They were still heavily overcharged and earned more suspicious and angry glares than friendly ones, but at least this time they left the village with the supplies they had come to buy in the first place. Thorin resolved to watch and learn more from Balin's example and his own mistakes.

The next weeks passed in relative peace - they made their way further south, always taking care to stay close to rivers providing them with enough fresh water to keep their water skins filled and make cooking an easier task. They slowly settled in a natural rhythm throughout their days, each member of their small travelling company finding their own specific tasks to do and settle on. Even Thrór seemed to recover some measure of balance again as the days continued and they moved further and further away from the gold that had poisoned his mind. The further south they went, the warmer it became as well and soon the sleet and snow were no more than a bad memory in their minds. The land that they travelled through was rough and stony, interspersed with small forests and only few inhabitants, the traces of human settlements becoming sparser.

The next proper meeting they had with folk other than their own occurred in the light of the setting sun. They had made camp early that day, to rest their ponies and go hunting in the faint hopes of finding enough meat to broaden their sparse diet for the evening. Thorin, Dwalin and Fundin were the ones out hunting and only returned shortly before darkness descended on their little camp for the night. Before they stepped into the light of the fire, however, their steps halted, stopped in their tracks by the sound of unfamiliar voices.

A short distance from their fire Thráin was in deep conversation with a tall man who was clad in rugged clothes. Another man and woman were standing slightly behind him, their stances wary of surprises and the tension in the air was almost sickening. Nobody had openly brandished weapons, but the fingers of more than one hand lay close to the hilts of axes and swords, as if by accident.

Fundin, Dwalin and Thorin stepped closer and dropped their scant load next to the fire where Glóin and his wife Lís were already preparing the meal for the evening. Both Thráin and the man didn't spare them any glances as they sat down on a fallen log, not far away from where the two were talking, but the gazes of the man's two companions flickered over to them, taking in their burly figures and assessing the danger that they might pose. Dwalin's smile aimed at them in return was more teeth than friendliness.

Thorin directed his attention at the words exchanged between his father and the stranger in their circle.

"...and guarantee you safe lodgings for as long as you wish." The man finished just now.

Thráin's voice was gruff when he answered and the mistrust in his eyes plain. They had never been quick to trust strangers and after their last experiences with men now more than ever.

"And what services would you require of us in return?"

"Nothing much," the man said. "Just some smithing work here and there, on our weapons and some items of daily use. And we have heard that dwarves are a sturdy folk of great warriors - we're sure we can put those skills to good use as well."

Thráin's eyes narrowed. He wasn't swayed by the man's cajoling talk and had never had his own father's flourish for long sentences and unabashed politeness beyond what diplomacy required. And the days in the wilderness had only served to harden him even more, knowing full well that in the eyes of those other than his kinsfolk he didn't have any royal standing anymore.

"We thank you for your...offer." he finally replied. "However, we will need some time to discuss it amongst ourselves, now that all members of our travelling group are assembled."

"We will be back at first light then." the man nodded, his statement leaving no room for any objections.

Thráin only answered with a curt nod of his own, before he watched the three of them disappear into the night. Dwarven courtesy would have dictated to invite them to stay for their evening meal, but he had no desire to spend any more time in their company. Despite the man's friendly words there was something about them that made him uneasy, a wariness that settled deep in his bones.

Thorin's questioning glance met his eyes and he sighed, knowing he would have to recount what the man had offered now and see if his son and own father shared his objections.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Frerin chapter! Because I have a lot of feels whenever I think about Thorin and his little brother.

"Who were they?" Thorin asked as soon as the men had disappeared into the quickly darkening night.

"Men from a settlement further to the East, apparently. They offered us shelter and provisions for as long as we want and need it, in return for some smithing work and fighting for them."

His father's voice sounded tired as he sat down beside the fire to recount the conversation in detail.

"Fight for them?"

Thorin frowned, an expression that was mirrored by the others around him. He had heard the last part of the man's offer as well as the others and even after thinking about it more thoroughly, something didn't seem right. Most of the others seemed to share the feeling, even Thráin who looked none too happy about the offer and the conversation he had just led.

"Maybe defending their villages against raiders or bandits?" Frerin suggested.

Balin shook his head, looking at Thráin for the permission to voice his own opinion who nodded at him.

"From the way they were behaving and holding their weapons, I don't think they are unused to fighting, on the contrary. We also didn't seem to be the first dwarves they've encountered. I've heard of men robbing other villages of their same folk in these parts and dwarves amongst their ranks would at least partially explain the animosity we've been met with in the settlements around here."

"You mean to say that this might be a band of robbers, eager to buy our services if we just help them with mugging innocent people?" Dwalin's voice was gruff and trembling with barely suppressed anger.

"We won't." Thráin cut in, sharply. He looked over to his father for approval, but Thrór had one of those evenings where he barely talked to anyone at all, not even Nár; his condition had slowly improved since they had left the Iron Hills, but there was a deep-seated knowledge inside Thorin that the doting grandfather he remembered so fondly from his childhood years was truly gone forever. And evenings such as this one, when he was inaccessible to all but the most basic of words, seemed only to prove his point.

"We might be homeless, and exiles from our own lands, but we won't sacrifice our morality for our sakes." The _not yet_ hung in the air, not spoken by Thráin, but yet clearly audible. Thorin thought that once, the men they had talked to might not have been all that different - but to stuff the bellies of their starving children they might have had not much choice. Nonetheless, he agreed with his father. They would not sink so low, not when they still had provisions and ways to get more. They would deny the men's offer the next morning and then be on their way, further south and then to the west.

The rest of their group seemed to agree with Thráin, signalling their approval of his decision. When they curled up on the grounds to sleep for the night, Thorin found himself lying awake for a while, thinking about those dwarves that had passed this way before and ended up in service of their visitors from today.

*

The same three people that had visited them in the evening came back the next morning at first light, as promised. Thráin welcomed them with all due courtesy, but barely wasted any time in telling them that they would not accept their offer and be on their way as soon as possible.

There was no animosity in the man's voice as he expressed his regret at their refusal. But the way his eyes were darting back and forth between the members of their company, trying to assess both their fighters' strength and the value of what they carried with them, set something inside Frerin on edge. He didn't have Fundin's finely honed warrior instincts or Balin's ability to empathise with other people - but even he knew that something was wrong.

They had planned on spending more time at the same spot, but after their encounter there seemed to be general consent amongst them to leave as soon as possible. Packing up their few belongings and securing them to the ponies was coming almost natural to them after weeks of travelling, each member of their group having their own specific task and working together like a well-oiled mechanism.

Dís was riding together with Frerin today and their laughter as he was teasing her rang through the air, lightening the mood despite the aura of uneasiness that seemed to be hanging over them. They stopped for a short lunch to give the ponies the opportunity for some more rest and compensate for the lost day of taking a break from the road.

They had just finished distributing their cold meal amongst the members of their company when Fundin's head suddenly whipped around and he barked a quick command in Khuzdul. Within seconds all dwarrows in possession of a weapon had grabbed theirs, forming a circle and shoving their young ones behind them.

"Take care of Dís!" Thráin shouted at him and all Frerin could do was to nod with wide eyes, his trembling hand clenched around the hilt of his sword. Unlike his older brother he hadn't seen any true fighting yet and the drumming of his heart in his ears was so loud he thought all the world could hear it.

They were lucky that their attackers had decided to not to use arrows for now - possibly they had heard about the wonders of dwarven armour or simply didn't want to waste any of their good arrows, convinced they could deal with the small race in close combat alone. Whatever their reason was, the men and women attacked swiftly. His father threw a nasty curse that Frerin had never heard before at the head of the assailants when he recognised him - the same man they had dealt with just this morning. Even Thrór's eyes were blazing at the sight, the old dwarf drawing himself up to his full height. For a moment, the haze of madness had vanished from his figure and he was the mighty dwarven king of old, descended from Durin himself subject and immortalised in song.

There were about thirty men attacking them, a rag-tag but seemingly well-organised group of bandits who had, according to their own words, dealt with dwarves before. Though all dwarrows were trained in war, not all of them were warriors. Either the words about having encountered and fought dwarves had been untrue, or the ones they had fought with had been no warriors - but despite their larger numbers, the men and women seemed to be unable to gain a distinct advantage over those they were attacking.

"Thorin! The ponies!" Thráin's voice was cutting through the fray, pointing towards where two men were busy stealing their animals and the saddlebags on the ground next to them. The prince snarled and nodded to Dwalin, who had turned around as well at the call, the two of setting out to protect their animals and possessions. Gróin and Lís followed closely behind, knowing that little Óin was as safe as he could be with the other dwarflings too young to fight. Frerin hesitated for a moment, not sure whether he should follow his brother or remain with his sister and the two other young dwarrows as his father had ordered him to.

His plight was momentarily answered when a man came storming towards him, his simple sword raised and an expression of murder on his face. Frerin risked a quick glance to his left and right, but everybody else seemed to be occupied. He willed the fingers of his hand to stop trembling and tried to recall every single lesson on fighting he had ever received. Only days before the dragon had come it had been decided that he would go on his first patrol soon, so he knew he was ready enough for a fight - but to have a live opponent with the clear desire to hurt or kill charging right at him was something much different to the controlled movements of the practice court.

He parried the first slash almost by luck, arm quivering under the force of the blow, but not giving a single hand's width of room. Dís was somewhere behind him and remained quiet, just as he had told her to. The man's eyes widened marginally as he noticed the strength in what seemed to him no more than a mere youth. A second attack followed swiftly and Frerin slowly felt his fear give way to concentration and an odd calm that came with the fight.

The man's sword swept towards him in a great arc and he evaded it with a quick step back, before circling around and feigning an attack towards the man's shoulder. As he moved to parry the blow, Frerin caught him with a slash in the right leg and his opponent went down, screaming. Unsure whether he should kill him or not, he took a step back, out of the fallen man's reach. He could feel his heart hammer in his chest and the blood rushing through his ears as the initial excitement was over.

Behind him, the three young dwarrows Óin, Dís and Dori were still hale and whole, all of them with more defiance than fear in their faces, clutching little rocks in their hands. Frerin felt a rush of pride surge through him at the picture. The man he had injured was still on the ground, clutching his bleeding leg and obviously unable to get up. Most of the others were still engaged in fights - Thorin, Dwalin and Gróin were dealing with the last of their attackers at the ponies. Lís had just returned to Frerin's side, grimness in her eyes and blood wetting her sleeve as she grimly nodded at him when she saw the man on the ground.

Frerin's father and grandfather were standing side by side with Fundin, Nár and Varna, reforming their impenetrable line so that no one else would get through to their children. Thrór's eyes were still alight with the fire of his previous years, the might and splendour of the former King Under the Mountain shining through again. Hulda and Balin were close to rejoining the line as well, currently dealing with a few rogue attackers to their side. Frerin knew he was supposed to stay with the young dwarrows in safety, but his fear had started to subside now and he felt the almost irresistible urge to join in the fighting, to prove his worth as a warrior and prince of Durin's line. He knew he would likely never be as good as his older brother or Fundin and his family at fighting, but he was well capable of standing his own and doing his part for the survival of the company.

He took a deep breath and with a last look at his sister he stepped forward to stand next to Varna who just shot him a quick, reassuring smile before returning her attention to the foe in front of her, swinging her two axes with the highest concentration. Frerin wounded another attacker with his sword and distracted a third one long enough for Balin, who was now next to him, to incapacitate him. There were very few men and women left standing now, starting to retreat towards the forest. No one tried to hinder them when they carried their wounded with them.

Only in the corner where the ponies were did some fighting still remain. Dwalin roared as he crossed blades with the woman who had been one of their three visitors from the day before - evidently she was one of their best fighters, her movements fast and accurate. Thorin dealt with an unknown man next to her whilst Gróin tried to calm down the ponies and keep them from bolting.

Frerin advanced towards the scene, not heeding his father's shouts behind him to stay back. When he had almost closed the distance between himself and the fighters, a shout rang out from his right and he saw the other man who had served as the ambassador's bodyguard charge towards his brother. Thorin didn't have the time to turn around, still deeply engaged in the fight with his opponent. Frerin cursed and charged towards the attacker, intercepting his sword just before he could split his brother's head in two.

He snarled and almost shrunk back from the wildness in the man's eyes, dead set on slaying at least one of them so they could make away with some of their provisions and ponies. This fight lasted longer than the first one, Frerin's opponent clearly almost as well-trained as the woman who fought against Dwalin. In the end it was more luck than skill that truly brought him down - Thorin dispatched his own opponent with a mighty sweep of weapon and turned around to where his little brother was fighting.

His yell of 'Frerin!' momentarily distracted the man, so that the young prince could take advantage of the sudden opening. Frerin's sword found its way to the man's heart between his ribs, the look of astonishment on his face quickly giving way to the emptiness of death.

As she saw her companion fall, the woman stepped back with a cry on her lips and followed the rest of her group in their retreat. Reality suddenly caught up with Frerin and he felt his knees buckle as everything that had happened in the last few moments assaulted his mind all at once. He had fought. He had _killed_. He had never really considered just how quickly a life could be snuffed out by his own hands; and that he had done so to keep his brother from dying wasn't much of a consolation at the moment.

Those hadn't been orcs driven only by the need to kill and wreak havoc; this man might have had a family waiting for him, children and relatives who depended on the food he brought home and that he would have stolen from them. Frerin felt the bile rise in his throat as he looked at the corpse in front of him and the fresh blood spattering his hands, suddenly becoming aware of the stench in the air. His sword clattered to the ground and only moments later he started retching up the remnants of his breakfast and the few bites he had had for lunch so far, tears of both shame and disgust forming in his eyes.

Only after a moment he became aware of an arm around his shoulders gently rubbing his back and a water skin held out to him. Thorin's voice was quiet in his ear as his brother whispered soothing words and gently led him away from the mess once there was nothing left in his stomach. Frerin's hand were trembling as he washed out his mouth with water and he was unable to meet his brother's gaze. Surely Thorin and the others would think him weak now when the sight of a single dead man had sent him to his knees already.

He heard his father's angry voice, demanding to know why he had left his assigned post at Dís' side and a softer inquiry shortly after asking if he was hurt, to which he only shook his head to underline the 'No, he's fine.' from his brother. Thráin left it at that, although Frerin could feel that the topic wasn't over for him yet.

Thorin gently hoisted his brother upright and shot him an apologetic glance.

"We need to get moving." he said. "We don't know if they will come back with more men soon and father agrees that we should be as far away as possible if it happens."

Two of their ponies had bolted or been taken before they had secured the rest of them. Fortunately, none of the saddle bags were missing and they themselves had only minor injuries - scratches and bruises and one or two slightly deeper wounds they would care for once they were a safe distance away.

They stopped after a few hours again, Hulda taking it upon herself to sew the wounds of Balin and Gróin. Both required only a few stitches and were done soon - and all the while young Óin was watching intently, prompting Hulda to tell Lís that her son would surely become a great healer in the future. Dwalin and his father went out to see if they could hunt some game to liven up their stew for the evening. Thráin was slowly walking over to where his two sons were sitting next to each other.

"Frerin." his voice was neither kind nor truly unfriendly - it was the tone that indicated he could become either in the next few moments, depending on how his question was answered. Frerin, still feeling cold and shaking slightly from the earlier events, looked up to meet his father's eyes and averted them almost as quickly again, not ready to meet their piercing gaze just yet.

"Why did you disobey your orders and move away from your sister earlier?"

"The battle was almost done and I thought my help was needed..."

Frerin didn't talk about how the frenzy of the battle had overcome him and filled him with the desire to fight, to defend his family and put his skills to use. He recognised now that losing himself like this had been more dangerous than anything else he could have done and didn't need his father to rub in the same lesson as well.

"He saved my life, father." Thorin's voice was unusually soft, but there was a firmness behind it that even Thráin recognised.

"Yes he did." his father conceded. "But he could've gotten killed just as easily. Don't do it again, Frerin. Do you understand?"

"Yes, father." Frerin nodded, eyes still trained on the ground and hoping their conversation would be finished now.

"Good." Thráin turned around to join his own father, dividing all necessary tasks for the afternoon and evening amongst the rest of the company and leaving his two sons to sit side by side.

"My first kill was a goblin." Thorin said suddenly after a few minutes of silence. Frerin glanced over to him, seeing his brother deeply in thought, gaze directed at the past.

"It was on my second patrol outside the mountain and we were ambushed rather suddenly. One of our guardsmen was killed instantly and we were lucky that more of us weren't dead by the end, although most of us carried some scars away from it. I was terrified at first and would have paid with my life for my fear, hadn't Fundin diverted the blade directed at me. But then the frenzy of battle caught up to me and I moved almost on pure instinct. Thinking back, it was equally terrifying and elating. In the end I had killed one of them and severely wounded another that someone else killed in the end. I remember thinking it weird that a life could be ended so easily. I think I managed to at least get behind some bushes before the smell and the impression of what I'd done caught up with me and I spread Ásta's amazing breakfast on the ground."

Contrary to the gruesome nature of the memory crossing his mind, Thorin smiled slightly as he looked over to Frerin. Then, in a more quiet voice, he said:

"There's no shame in realising what you have done, Frerin and feeling fear. There's also no shame in being shaken and not in your right mind after your first battle. On the contrary, I would be amazed if it wouldn't be so. I know that Dwalin's hands didn't stop trembling for hours after the first skirmish he got into and I had to swear to him never to tell anyone. "

Frerin had to chuckle at the image of the burly youth trembling like a leaf in the wind. He almost didn't hear Thorin's next words over the relief surging through his mind.

"You also saved my life today, little brother. Thank you."

The young dwarrow nodded, the clenching hot fingers around his heart slightly easing their grip. His older brother put an arm around him, sending another reassuring smile in his direction. It was strange to hear Thorin utter so many words at once outside of political affairs or lessons; usually it was Frerin's role to talk his brother's ears off. He felt the warmth of his brother's touch spread through his body, being amplified by Dís' laughter in the distance. With a small grin he looked up into his brother's deep blue eyes, finding nothing but understanding and softness in his gaze.

"Thank you too." he whispered quietly.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the long delay, folks! My summer is shaping up to be a really busy mess what with me finishing a degree, starting another and moving abroad in between...I'm sorry to say that the next chapter likely won't be here until middle/late September because there's just too much happening in between. After that it should hopefully be more regular again! Thanks for your patience :').
> 
> In this chapter we finally approach some more not-so-nice aspects of the journey. Including Durin Family Drama...

The incident with the bandits had sharpened their gaze for their encounters with those who inhabited the settlements they were passing during their journey. The dwarrows always reassured them at the gates already that they had come only to trade or buy goods and were in no way affiliated with the bandits that were roaming these lands. They were never greeted with true friendliness, but most of the times they weren't forcibly driven away either.

A larger problem was the slow decline of their funds. Despite their best efforts, barely anyone accepted their offers of work and if they did, then only for such small compensation that it left Thráin fuming and the others in an everlasting war between their pride and the need for money to buy food. In the earlier days, their pride won, but the emptier their stomachs and sparser their funds became, the more the scales in their minds began to tip.

The settlements became even scarcer as they moved south, steadily following the flow of the river Redwater that originated in the Iron Hills. They had planned to cross the River Running coming from the west once the two flowed together as their maps indicated and then move further south- and slightly westwards. This plan, however, was quickly thwarted as they realised that there was no way to cross the two rivers where they were converging. The River Running, only a small stream where it flowed out of the gates of Erebor, was so wide now that they had trouble making out any details on its other side.

Thrór shouted something unintelligible and only Nár was quick enough to grasp his intentions and hold his arm as the former King under the Mountain tried to run away from them and follow the River Running back to his lost kingdom. The sheen of madness they had so rarely seen blazing in his eyes in those past few weeks was back now that a route presented itself and it was all that Thráin, who had quickly come to help, and Nár could do to restrain him from running back to his treasure and into his doom.

Dwalin could see the pain in the other's eyes and the quiet fear lurking behind the gazes of both Thorin and his father that they, too, would one day be overwhelmed by the madness. Even the usually so cheerful spirit of Frerin seemed to be dampened for the rest of that day - ever since the battle a small bit of the unblemished happiness that had still lingered in his gaze after the doom of Erebor and his mother's death had vanished. Dwalin knew the young prince was suffering from nightmares most of the nights although he would never admit it to anyone. Thorin had noticed, too, and if anybody ever saw one of his hands touching Frerin's arm and squeezing it reassuringly throughout the night when his brother was suffering from particularly violent dreams again, nobody said a word.

The crossing of the River Running took a lot more time than they had previously planned on using. They spent several days travelling upriver in order to find a good place for crossing the wide stream. Thráin had been close to suggesting to build some boats to transport themselves across the river, despite the initial uneasiness most of them had when facing the stream. It was so much larger than it had been in the sacred caverns where its spring lay deep inside Erebor and still far wider than where it was streaming out of the mountain's front gates. His thoughts also pointedly ignored the fact that none of them truly knew how to build a boat or raft that would be stable enough to bear their weights.

In the end, they were saved by a very small settlement around a ferry station. The price the boatman wanted to charge them was higher than any of them had expected, but they had little choice. Gróin had always had the best haggling abilities of their little group, but even he was unable to lower the price more than a few small coins.

It took almost all of their remaining funds to pay up for the journey across the river and as such, their already low spirits were dampened even more. There was barely any money left for supplies and other necessities. Hulda had become invaluable with her ability to repair almost all clothing over and over again, the basics of which she also passed on to the others, but even she could only do so much when they were lacking any new fabric.

The settlements were still few and far in between and it often took them several days or more to travel from one to another even when they were following the roads. Soon enough, they had no coin left and few things to trade for food. Nobody truly spoke about it, but all families made sure that their youngest had enough to eat - even if there wouldn't be enough for themselves to take. Dwalin felt uncomfortably reminded of their days when they were fleeing Erebor (albeit without the cold) when he saw Thorin quietly slipping Frerin and especially Dís most of his food.

At some point, however, even the meagre rations they were sharing amongst themselves weren't enough anymore - despite extended hunting trips and set-up traps their cooking pots remained empty for most of the time and the occasional game they could find wasn't enough to fill all their stomachs. Grimness settled over their little travelling group and even Frerin seldomly had the heart for a joke anymore.

When Dís cried for the first time that she was hungry and her belly was hurting, Dwalin thought he could see something vanish in the light of Thorin's eyes. He knew with a strange surety that it would never reappear there again. Thorin didn't say a single word, but just wrapped his arms around his little sister, murmuring soothing sounds in her hair, just like their mother would have done. Dwalin could see Lís, Gróin and Hulda doing the same for their children. Hulda was trying to teach her son a specific sewing technique to distract him from the gnawing hunger in his stomach and Óin's parents were trying catch their son's attention by telling him one of the many legends surrounding their ancestors.

The second time they returned from a village empty-handed after not having eaten for almost two days something seemed to snap inside Thorin. They had passed the settlement in the early morning, not long after they had continued their journey with no breakfast after a short night. The villagers had even been partly sympathetic to the cause, but the payment they had offered for a day's work at the forge would have barely been enough for a single meal feeding all of them, let alone sustain them throughout the next few days.

They were just saddling up their ponies again when Thorin suddenly drew himself up to his full height.

"I'll be going back into the village again." he announced, not meeting his father's gaze or that of anyone else.

"And why?" Thráin's voice was quiet and his tiredness palpable from every sound.

"To work."

Thráin's eyes narrowed at his son's answer. Thorin's jaw was working and Dwalin thought he could hear his teeth grate on each other as he expected a stern rebuke from his father. Thráin opened his mouth as if he wanted to say exactly that, but Dwalin took a deep breath and stepped forward to stand beside his friend.

"I'll go as well." he said, glancing sideways at Thorin whose posture was still stiff, waiting for his father's answer. They both knew that they _should_ only be going with Thráin's approval, but Dwalin could sense that Thorin was ready to, for the first time in his life, defy his father's and, by extension, grandfather's orders.

"Do as you wish." Thráin said finally. His disapproval was plain and the scowl on his face would have set most dwarrows scurrying away as fast as possible, but Thorin simply nodded and threw a gaze at Dwalin that made it plain that he wished to leave as fast as possible.

The two of them turned around and made their way to the ponies where the bottoms of their saddlebags held their tools. No dwarrow would take another's tool for forging and although they knew that it might be risky to bring such valuable items into the village with them, they also knew that their work would be faster and better if they used their own tools. None of the other members of their small travelling group accompanied them this time; the king's grandson and his closest companion could allow themselves this small trip bordering on disobedience, but few others whose craft was smithing dared to risk it (although privately, Dwalin had no doubt that both his brother and his parents would do so if they could). Dwalin hoped that they would try and go hunting again and hopefully mind their ponies in the meantime. In the last weeks they had given them fewer breaks than they needed and if they would continue like this not all of their riding animals would see the end of their journey.

Their tool bags gripped firmly in their hands, Thorin and Dwalin set off towards the settlement. Thorin threw his friend a grateful glance that he wasn't the only one leaving; stubborn dwarrow that he was he would have made the trip alone but even if they didn't talk much, they always took comfort in each other's company.

The town's blacksmith clearly didn't know what to make of the dwarrows' return. Dwalin had stayed with the ponies on their first trip into the settlement, so his face was unfamiliar to the man. Thorin, however, had been part of the earlier group and could thus remember exactly what the smith had offered them. It was a laughably low amount of money they would earn with their work and were the situation any different, they would have taken it as an insult. As it was, they had no choice to accept when their last try to raise the payment had failed. Dwalin knew that Thorin would do everything for his family so that he didn't have to see Dís or any of the other dwarflings hunger again.

The tasks that they were given first were the simplest of all - clearly the smith wanted to test their handiwork before trusting them with more complicated work. Dwalin could feel Thorin's anger and frustration simmer under the surface, resulting in a dark scowl on his face that was so similar to his father's that it made Dwalin smile. The pounding of his hammer on the metal was ferocious, but still he took care enough not to destroy what he was working on.

At least the smith was forced to admit grudgingly after the first few hours that their work was indeed of more than just standard quality. From then on, he seemed to be inclined to trust them with more complex tasks. During the hours of the afternoon that they were working at the forge, Dwalin could feel an odd sense of familiarity settle over them, on that they hadn't experienced since Erebor. True, they had also done smithing work in the Iron Hills, but never in such unison as before during their time in the Lonely Mountain. Both of them had learned their craft together and spent more than a few hours in the vast smithies of their home, honing their abilities and constantly learning new ones. Neither of them were master smiths, being too young to amass enough experience to even attempt to gain the title and still unsure whether they would ever have enough skill to do so. Nonetheless, their work was certainly on par with that of most smiths of mankind, their love for crafting that the Maker had gifted them with flowing strongly through their veins.

The pounding of their tools on the metal created a steady rhythm which settled in their minds, slowly chasing away all other thoughts as they were pulled into the simple satisfaction of creating work with their own hands. Dwalin could still feel the frustration in almost every swing of Thorin's arms, but the angry edge to it was slowly softening as he found his way into his work. They barely spoke a single work apart from when it was necessary and for a short moment, Dwalin could almost think he was back in Erebor when he closed his eyes and felt the heat on his skin and the sharp tang of metal and fire in the air.

For a moment he thought he could hear the faint sounds of others working in the distance, the secure and calming feeling of stone surrounding them and the endless walls of the mountain ringing with the sound of other hammers and tools shaping the metal. Of course, however, the illusion didn't last for very long - it was broken by the voice of the smith loudly demanding that they hurry up with their work, there was still a lot more tasks for them to do until they were finished.

Dwalin could see Thorin's knuckles standing out white as he was gripping the handle of his hammer at the humiliation of being ordered around like a slave. He could feel his own anger surging through his body and fixed his eyes on the piece of work in front of him. They couldn't risk getting thrown out with no payment, not when the others were waiting and the little ones were depending on them.

And so they worked.

They worked until the sweat was running down their backs and until the last light of the day was setting the horizon on fire. Their muscles were burning with exhaustion and Dwalin felt a sting of frustration at himself - it had been far too long that they had been doing smithing and it was obvious that part of his muscles weren't used to the work anymore and were now far more tired than they should be after they had washed the worst of the grime off their faces and bodies. Exhaustion was written plainly on Thorin's face as well although he obviously refused to acknowledge it, the gaze from his eyes hard as steel as he demanded their payment from the smith.

At least the man didn't try to cheat them out of their earnings - he paid them exactly as much as he had promised before, no more and no less although the same work would have earned at least double or triple the price in the marketplaces of Dale. This, however, wasn't Dale and so they took what they were offered. Just when they turned around to go back, the smith called out behind them.

"Master Dwarf."

He was clearly addressing Thorin as the one who he had done business with. Dwalin doubted that his friend would have turned around weren't it for the use of 'Master' - it was the first time that the smith had used the word when referring to them and although none of them were masters of their craft, the grudging respect in the title was still apparent.

"I have more work for you to do tomorrow, if you will take it. For the same payment."

The battle in Thorin's mind was apparent - on the one hand every single bit of coin they could earn was well needed by all those who were travelling with them. Thráin, on the other hand, would likely not approve of another day spent in underpaid labour and the low payment was still grating at Thorin's pride. Nonetheless, he inclined his head after a moment and assured the smith that they would be back the next the day at sunrise if their time allowed it. With one last look at the smithy and its owner they grabbed their bags and made their way through the village back to the place where they had made camp for the day - not, however, without spending all the coins they had earned on what they judged to be the most immediately-needed and long-lasting supplies. It was only a meagre share that their money could buy them, but by far better than nothing - and the light in Dís' eyes when she saw her brother return with his arms full of dried fruit, a sack of flour, some eggs and dried meat more than made up for the dent the afternoon had left in his pride.

Despite the fact that there would have been enough food to feed their entire group well for the evening, they kept most of their portions sparse aside from those of the dwarflings to make their supplies last for as long as possible. It was only after Dís had curled up close to Frerin to sleep and both Óin and Dori had safely been tucked away by their parents that Thorin dared to confront his father about what he was planning to do the next day.

"No."

Thráin's voice was flat and devoid of most emotion, similar to how it had been the same morning. The refusal, however, was plain this time. The anger colouring Thorin's tone at his reply was an almost visible black cloud around his head as he answered his father's refusal.

"So your pride means more to you than your own daughter's life?"

Thorin would never have dared to utter such words to his father in any other situation. Later he blamed his own tiredness for them, the frustration that had been simmering underneath his surface for days and the infuriating helplessness of their situation.

Thráin lifted his hand as if to strike his own son and heir, but aborted the movement in the last moment. Seeing the life of his daughter and that of the others of Durin's Line slowly waste away and in the wilderness instead of prospering in the glory of Erebor's Halls grated at his heart as much as the thought of Thorin and Dwalin working away in the forges of men for barely more than a pittance. Their royal blood and hard work had never meant anything to anyone outside their own race and without the riches to buy loyalty and influence, most of the great house of the Longbeards had turned into a wandering folk, many of them no better than beggars in the other's eyes - an image that would only be reinforced if Thorin continued as he had today. Thráin had no wrong hopes of regaining their glory as his own father still did - unlike Thrór he didn't believe they could regain the mountain any time soon, despite the constant whisper in his mind that was telling him otherwise. However, they still had a choice of how to represent themselves and if this was the last thing to mark them as one of Durin's Line, then so be it.

Thráin knew that his thoughts had turned bitter over the past couple of weeks, but there were no firm arms around his back anymore, no soothing smell of wood fire and copper filling his nostrils and no voice in his ear to sweeten his thoughts and pull him away from the brooding darkness. They had vanished the moment that Sigvór's body had been crushed under the stone of the mountain she had loved so dearly.

He was unable to put any of these sentiments into words and quell the anger and, even worse, disappointment he could see shining out from Thorin's eyes as his son threw the words into his face. Thráin's reply was a calm as it had been at the beginning of their argument.

"We leave this place at first light tomorrow morning. That's all."

Thorin's fingers were clenched into a fist so hard that he thought his nails would draw blood any time soon. A single look at Dís, her fingers curled around a few strands of Frerin's hair with a peaceful expression on her face so in contrast with the tears borne of hunger from the night before were all he needed to remember to harden his resolve to defy his father's orders.

Despite keeping their argument short and fairly quiet, it hadn't escaped the notice of most of the other dwarrows still awake and when Thorin returned to their fire, he did his best to meet the other's gazes with defiance. His eyes lingered longest on Dwalin, who was quietly sharpening his weapons before he went to bed, a ritual he had taken up from his father after a few days on the road.

Dwalin just glanced at the young dwarrows sleeping at their family's side with full stomachs for the first time in days; then he simply nodded into Thorin's direction, signalling both that he had heard his conversation with Thráin and that he was willing to go with Thorin whatever his friend decided to do. Thorin's smile of gratitude came out slightly crooked, but it was a smile nonetheless and it warmed Dwalin's heart to see it on his face.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only have Internet for a few hours, but here you go, another chapter (written in four different countries overall. Geez.)! Once I have properly settled in my new home updates will hopefully resume with much more regularity. For now, enjoy!
> 
>  **Trigger warnings for this chapter:** This chapter contains some domestic abuse and deals with the repercussions of that. Stay safe, my lovely readers!

They left the next morning before first light. Thorin would have undoubtedly gone by himself had Dwalin not woken up; although his friend had promised to come with him, Thorin would not have roused him from sleep and risked awakening the others. Dís had already started to protest that her brother's warm weight at her side was missing, her voice quieted only by a quick intervention from Frerin's side who pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her, murmuring soothing words into her hair.

Dwalin and Thorin covered the distance to the settlement in silence, tool bags hefted on their shoulders. Dwalin could sense Thorin's uneasiness and the steely determination with which he pushed the fear of his father's judgment aside as they entered the gates at first light and made their way to the forge. At least one positive surprise awaited them: the smith's demeanour was friendlier than the day before and the tasks he gave them of higher value.

Thorin's grim countenance throughout the day barely changed to an outsider, but Dwalin could see how he slowly relaxed again, how the work at least momentarily helped him forget the plight they were in and the confrontation they would surely face this evening. Dwalin sensed his own uneasiness clearly enough, a shallow weight somewhere in the bottom of his stomach that never entirely disappeared during the day. Thráin had never been one to forgive a slight lightly, not even in his own blood. A strong temper had always been part of the Durin bloodline and he was no exception. And now that Sigvór's (a dwarrowdam who had possessed plenty of temper of her own and no mistake) softening influence was gone, it was more likely to break out in sudden and disastrous bursts. There was no saying what he would do in a fit of rage, even when his own son was involved.

At the end of the day the smith even gave them at trifle more than he had promised - his wife was a cheese maker and half a round of it that she had no use for anymore had been left over from the day and had thus landed in their bags. The lines of the scowl in Thorin's face softened slightly - the gift born of pity and generosity grated at his pride, but he knew how much Frerin and young Dori loved cheese. His steps were marginally lighter on their way back until their camp was in sight and he remembered that he had disobeyed a direct order from his father and thus, by proxy, his king.

Thráin was fuming.

The king's son was waiting for them at the front of their camp, thunderclouds darkening his brow at their sight. Thráin was an imposing figure in his wrath, only marginally smaller than his son, but with wider shoulders and the tattoos on his face only underlining the wildness of his features. His smiles were few and rare in between, but Thorin still remembered the heavy brow suddenly softening and the mouth breaking out in a wide smile and deep, rumbling laugh much like Thrór's.

The same hands that had once held Thorin and swung him in a high arc over his father's head until he was breathless with laughter were now balled into fists at Thráin's side. Thorin went to the horses first to take care of his tools, then pressed the food and the money into Dwalin’s hands before facing his father. Dwalin dropped the load in his arms into Frerin’s in turn, hurrying to stand next to his friend and not desert him in face of whatever was to come. It had been his own decision to follow Thorin and as such he would carry the blame for it and whatever punishment Thráin might conceive.

“Where have you been?” The question, posed in an icy voice that bore no lying to him, was purely rhetorical.

“We returned to the village to work.”

Thorin’s tone was measured, but the fury beneath was almost on par with Thráin’s own. He had come head to head with his father more than once before, but never over something as profound as this. Sigvór had once jokingly said that if his and his father’s temper would ever clash in earnest, it would likely bring the entire mountain down on their heads. But the mountain was lost and so was she and there was nothing that would keep their anger at bay now.

Dwalin stood slightly behind Thorin, watching the scene unfold. Now he wanted to take a step forward to stand next to him, in order to underline Thorin’s arguments with words of his own and thus strengthen his position in front of his father. Thorin didn’t see his movement but he felt it, holding out his arm in a gesture that signalled clearly that he wanted Dwalin to stay back. The motion made Thráin’s piercing gaze fall on Dwalin and it took everything he had not to shrink back from the cold fury in them.

“Dwalin came with me because I asked him to. This has nothing to do with him.”

Dwalin had to rein himself in not to lash out at Thorin at the words – they were only meant to protect him after all, shifting all the blame for their decision onto Thorin’s shoulders alone. He didn’t need Thorin to fight his fights for him – he didn’t _want_ him to. If his friend thought that he didn’t have enough strength to face Thráin, he was sadly mistaken. With a small growl he opened his mouth to contradict his friend’s words, when he felt a hand on his arm and his eyes met those of Fundin.

His father shook his head slightly and increased the pressure on his arm, signalling him to step back. This confrontation was meant to be carried out between father and son as well as future king and heir and not even more distant kin had a place in it. Dwalin was still furious, however, and resolved to talk to Thorin later in private about what had just happened.

Not heeding the little exchange behind them, Thorin and Thráin were continuing their argument.

“...I did what _all_ of us should have done, and much earlier!” Thorin was shouting now, his brows furrowing in anger and eyes blazing.

Thráin was more than a match for his son, however, and his face was slowly turning crimson, voice getting louder with every word.

“ _You_ did what no dwarrow should ever do! You, a son of kings, of the great Durin himself, lost all honour when you lowered yourself on the level of those, those _beggars_! And worse, you disregarded a direct order!” Thráin’s voice was quivering in its wrath.

“Beggars?!” Now it was Thorin’s turn to match the volume of his father’s words. “You call them beggars, but they have food, income, a home! We have _nothing_! If anybody is a beggar here, then it’s us!”

“You will never speak about your own kin like this again. _Never_.” Thráin’s words were deadly quiet when they were spoken and Thorin knew he had overstepped a boundary.

“But you know that I am right.” Thorin’s voice, just as quiet as his father’s, brimmed with all the arrogant righteousness he could muster from his youth.

Thráin stood as if frozen to the spot. Dwalin almost thought he had given up when the sound of a slap echoed through the forest clearing. Thorin’s cheek turned scarlet where his father had hit him, the older dwarf breathing heavily, an icy fury still in his eyes. The prince was wide-eyed, not moving as if in shock. It was the first time his father had truly hit him – he had punished him before, yes, but usually for youthful pranks and nonsense and even then more with tedious hours of extended copying of old book passages rather than a heavy hand. And worse, he had never done it before other dwarrows outside the immediate family, either.

Silence stretched out over their little group, filled with shock about what had happened. None of them moved, Thráin’s deed much too unexpected for most of them. His fists were balled at his side now and it looked like he would have liked to continue where he had just left off. Dwalin moved forward, intent on stopping him, no matter the price he would pay for such a breach for protocol and law. This time it took both Fundin and Varna to restrain him who, although still slightly dazed by what had just happened, at least had enough mind left to prevent their own son from getting himself into even worse trouble than Thorin was in right now.

Thorin hadn’t noticed his friend’s movement. He was still staring at his father, mind and body frozen as every possible reply seemed to be stuck in his throat. His anger had almost evaporated in the instant his father’s palm had hit his cheek, leaving behind only a deadly cold and the glowing embers of humiliation rising up somewhere deep inside him.

“Never again disobey one of my orders. Do you understand?” Thráin hissed, his eyes fixed on his son’s face.

Thorin clenched his teeth. He remembered the feeling of losing himself in his task, the sound of the hammer on the metal reverberating in his bones and setting his mind at ease, even if only for a little while. He thought of Dís’ face the night before when she had seen the food and her and the other children’s soft whimpers in those nights when they’d had to go to bed hungry and he knew he wouldn’t be able to obey, no matter his father’s reasons.

“I’m sorry, father.” he pressed out, in the vain hope it would soothe his father’s temper. “But I would do the same again, no matter how many times you tell me not to.”

Thráin opened his mouth in a wordless snarl and lifted his hand, about to strike Thorin a second time.

“Enough.”

Thorin’s eyes widened when he stared at his grandfather. Thrór had stepped up behind Thráin and gripped his wrist, stopping his movement mid-air. The king’s eyes were clear, for the first time in weeks, and his quiet voice carried the same authority that had commanded armies and led hundreds of Longbeards to follow him down from the Grey Mountains and settle in Erebor again.

Thráin turned around, as if his eyes had to confirm that he had heard the right voice.

“Father, he-“ But his voice had lost all rigour. Whilst Thrór had been a wise and mostly kind ruler and father before the madness had taken him, he had also been known to claim absolute authority over everyone, up to and including his own family and son, much like Thráin himself. To obey him was carved deeply into Thráin’s bones.

“I know. I’ve listened.” Thrór’s words were still spoken quietly, but to defy him was as unthinkable as to defy the mountain itself for Thráin. There was, however, still no judgment in those words, neither against Thrór’s son or grandson.

The king carefully released his grip around Thráin’s wrist and his arm fell limply down at his side. Then he directed his piercing gaze at Thorin who, after a moment, averted his eyes and strode away from the group with slow, measured steps. Everybody knew that Thrór’s breaking up of the fight was but a temporary reprieve and that the argument would likely flare up again sooner or later – still, they were all grateful that the confrontation had momentarily ended.

Thorin didn’t speak a single word during the rest of the evening, sitting quietly outside the circle of the dwarrow families with a deep scowl on his face and staring into the flames of the fires they had been kindled when evening fell. Not even when Frerin whooped delightedly at the sight of cheese (joined, after a moment, by Dori) and threw his brother a more than happy glance did he rejoin them, just answering with a tired smile. Thráin didn’t speak a single word either – he refused to eat the food his son and distant nephew had brought back and his glowering silence only served to frighten Dís further, who was pressed into Frerin’s side. Frerin hadn’t exchanged more than a few words with his father – it was plain what his sympathies were in this particular family fight and just what exactly he thought about Thráin’s outbreak earlier. Nonetheless, he didn’t dare approach his brother now who looked to be in a mood just as black as their father’s.

The other families had unanimously decided to stay out of the fight as well. It was neither their place nor their right to interfere with trouble in the royal family; in Erebor, such arguments would normally have been carried out behind closed doors, open defiance by the own family one of the worst humilities a dwarrow could suffer, made worse if the royal family was the one concerned. Frerin’s slippage in the battle could have been forgiven, due to his youth and the fact that it had been his first skirmish; Thorin, however, had disobeyed willingly and in cold blood. Thráin’s open and unjustifiably violent punishment had just added to the insult on both sides. This was nothing that could easily be mended and both of them knew it.

Most of the dwarrows cast glances at Thrór from time to time, not sure what to make of the king’s constitution at the moment. Had he snapped out of the crawling disease slowly poisoning his mind? Or was it only a temporary recovery, brought about by the unseemly conflict between dwarrows of his own blood? Nobody could answer those questions for sure, but it seemed like Thrór was more aware of what was happening than he had been before, repeatedly looking into the direction of his son and grandson and at least speaking with his other grandchildren and more distant family members from time to time.

After the evening meal that passed mostly in silence and whispered words, Dwalin disregarded Thráin’s angry glances at him and walked over to where Thorin still sat unmoving, eyes focused on the fire and his siblings. He nudged him gently in the side with his elbow.

“You did the right thing.” he said quietly.

Thorin smiled bitterly. A bruise had already begun to form on his cheek where Thráin had struck him and Thorin brought up his hand to touch the sore bit of skin.

“Not according to my father.”

Dwalin didn’t quite know what to answer. He wanted to tell Thorin that, no matter what his father was thinking, he had done right by his kin and the other dwarrows. He wanted to tell him that Thráin’s punishment had been unjust and in no way fit behaviour for a king’s son; he wanted to tell him that he would keep standing by his side, no matter what obstacles he faced, even if they were from his own family.

“Then next time, let me stand with you.” His words reflected more of his earlier anger than he wanted them to at the moment; but he was still convinced that Thráin might not have forgotten himself and dared to strike Thorin if Dwalin had not been dismissed from their argument.

“He would have punished you, too. Better only me than to pull someone else into it.” Thorin sounded endlessly tired, as if the hard day and the following argument had robbed him of all his strength.

“ _Someone_ else?” Dwalin felt the anger inside him grow again. “I’m your _friend_ , Thorin, or at least I thought I was. And friends face such things together.” _Like we always have_ , he wanted to add. _Remember when we accidentally managed to topple over the shelf in the armoury with the shields? How we faced the consequences together and spent three days copying what felt like a thousand pages of Borin Oneleg’s One Hundred and One Rules of Gem Polishing? By the second day you complained that surely, your hand would come off at your wrist if you had to write even one more word._

“I-“ Thorin stopped short with what he had wanted to say. Dwalin’s anger hurt, and in more ways than one. In truth, Thorin hadn’t looked at what he done that way at all - he only thought in his mind had been that he had never seen his father so angry before, not even when he and Frerin had managed to spill ink over his best robe. He hadn’t wanted to subject Dwalin to his wrath, not when it had been his own idea in the first place that he had followed. After hesitating shortly, he tried to voice those exact thoughts.

“Father has never been so angry before. You _were_ following my own orders after all.”

Dwalin snorted, shaking his head.

“Your memory is as bad as your sense of direction. I went with you because I wanted to, remember?”

A smile twitched over Thorin’s face, lighting his tired eyes with a sheen of life for a moment.

“You were just too stubborn to say no.”

“...says the one whose head is as hard as the stone of the mountain itself.”

Thorin aimed a cuff at Dwalin’s head which Dwalin evaded with a grin. The elbow in his ribs, however, he saw coming too late and doubled over with a quiet ‘unffff’. A short scuffle ensued that only ended when Thorin fell backwards off the log that they were sitting on. Dwalin laughed quietly. They were, in theory, much too old for such childish games, especially in times like those. The hints of a smile, however, that were spreading in Thorin’s face as he was lying on his back on the forest floor, proved to Dwalin that sometimes, childishness was not so bad.

“Next time I’m with you.” he growled before offering Thorin his hand, eyebrows coked questioningly.

After a moment of hesitation, Thorin gripped it and hoisted himself upright, dusting old brown leaves off his overcoat.

“Yes.” He didn’t have it in himself to deny Dwalin the promise, not when he knew that Dwalin’s support meant more to him than that of any other dwarrow.

“Good.” Dwalin grinned and patted his shoulder. “Come on now, the others are waiting. We should go to sleep soon.”

Thorin nodded and followed his friend onto the clearing, pointedly avoiding meeting his father’s eyes or even looking at him. He turned to his siblings instead and embraced them wordlessly before he began to comb out and braid Dís’ hair.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After all the seriousness in the last chapters I thought it was time for something more light-hearted :).

The relationship between Thorin and his father remained cold and distant. The rift between them seemed much too large to be bridged by mere words and none of them made an attempt at it, Thorin and Thráin both too proud and believing themselves too much in the right to do the first step. Frerin and Dís were caught between them, unsure of the situation, as was the rest of their travel group. Thrór had fallen back into his usual unresponsiveness again, staring back in the direction of Erebor more often than not and talking only when he was asked, sometimes not even then. His mind seemed to wander to other places and back to his treasure, far away from his kin travelling with him.

Thorin and Dwalin continued to work in the villages of men whenever the opportunity arose - subduing their pride seemed to become easier the more often they were doing it. It didn't take long for others from their group to join in and offering their skill in exchange for money and provisions. They were unable to completely evade the hunger following on their heels, especially in lesser populated areas and those where people were too suspicious to give them any work. The lines on their faces deepened any time any one of the smaller dwarflings showed distress over being hungry and the evenings when they all had to go to bed on an empty stomach proved to be the most challenging for all of them.

To chase away the heavy thoughts of their journey and keep their fighting reflexes sharp, Thorin and Dwalin started sparring again if there was enough food to be had to satiate their hungry stomachs after. Soon enough, others joined in with their exercises and mock fights. Even Frerin who had never been as fond of weapon's training as his older brother used the days when they had to rest their ponies and own tired bodies to practise and enhance his skills. None of the dwarrowdams were exempt from the training either - Mahal's children had always known that misfortune could befall them even in the most prosperous of times and as such, their dwarrowdams had always been trained to defend themselves as well as any others of their folk. Some of them chose the handling and, often enough, smithing of weapons as their Skill, although none of those dwarrowdams had decided to come with them on their long journey south, many of them having perished in the attack of the dragon like so many other warriors and the smiths who had been deep inside the mountain when the beast had come.

Dís, Óin and Dori were watching as the older dwarves were handling their weapons. Their group was much further south now and the days had started to become warmer in accordance with the approaching summer. They had rested their ponies today and had been lucky enough to finally have some success at hunting, more than enough to fill all of their stomachs this afternoon. The dwarrows had split up into groups of two, practising movements or doing simple mock fights against each other. Lís had paired up with Hulda, next to her husband and Fundin who had been practise companions ever since they had first learned how to handle a weapon and were now taking turns to fight with Balin. Thorin was sparring with Dwalin, as always, and Frerin was being taught by Varna. Even Thráin and Nár had decided to stretch their muscles, always in close proximity to Thrór and in the vain hope the familiar sounds and sights might raise the king from his lethargy.

The fascination in Dís' face was evident when Varna disarmed Frerin with a quick twist of her own practise blade. Most of them didn't use their own battle weapons for sparring and instruction - it would dull the fine blades too fast and the chances for accidentally injuring themselves was high, especially if the two fighters weren't accustomed to each other. In some of their rare spare moments they had managed to procure wooden practise weapons which they used instead. Now Frerin picked up his with a grin on his face and lifted both arms in apparent defeat. Varna grinned as well and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Auntie Varna?" Dís' voice piped up, causing both of them to turn around to her.

"Yes?"

"Can you teach me how to fight, too?" Her eyes were big and pleading, the eagerness in them apparent.

Varna lifted an eyebrow in surprise, but it was clear that Dís was being completely earnest in her request. Frerin smiled and patted his little sister on the back.

"There's always space for one more in our little training group." he said with a wink that made Dís' face light up in delight. Her attention, however, was clearly focused on Varna - as much as she loved and trusted her brothers, she seemed to be intent to be trained by another dwarrowdam. There was no reason why Varna would deny the young daughter of Durin her request.

She bade Dís wait with her brother and went to retrieve some smaller branches from the bushes nearby. Wooden sticks were better to begin the practise for movements with, although they had to be of the right weight so that the switch to the weapons wouldn't disrupt the sense of balance so painstakingly built up in training before. Varna frowned when she remembered that they didn't have any wooden weapons of the right size for a dwarfling to begin with; nobody had thought of making or bringing any for the young ones when they left. A mistake that should have been remedied much sooner. It took her a while to find branches of what she thought of as roughly the right size and weight and cut them into the right shape, but when she returned, Dís was positively bursting with energy and excitement.

Her enthusiasm didn't wane when Varna began to teach her what she dimly remembered to have been her first lessons in weapon use as well. The right stance was important - as was practise. Dís followed every single one of her movements and instructions intently, keen on copying everything exactly as she saw it and making Varna absurdly aware of her own fighting style and the small mistakes that might have found their way into it over the years.

The two of them soon attracted a little crowd - Dori and Óin were watching with fascinated eyes, hesitating only a little to join in when Varna threw them an inviting glance and two more small branches that she had brought earlier. Frerin was observing them with a smile on his lips, momentarily catapulted back into a time before the dragon, when he had been no older than his sister was now and receiving his first lessons from Fundin.

Fundin had been mostly a great teacher to him and the other dwarrows of his age - stern, but with an excellent feel for his students' strengths and weaknesses. He was overly gruff at times, but never impatient, taking care that none of his students were left behind. Even when it became clear that Frerin didn't share his brother's and Dwalin's aptitude for fighting, Fundin was one of the few who accepted it without protest. Frerin looked at Dís and saw the joy in her face when she concentrated on imitating Varna as well as she was able to. After the death of their mother, the dwarrowdam seemed to become the one Dís was turning to more and more often next to her brothers and father. Varna never tried to be what she knew she couldn't be: a replacement for her friend Sigvór. Instead she offered comfort and, especially, guidance whenever it was needed, letting Sigvór's children come to her when they wanted, an offer that was accepted more frequently as time went on.

Varna had her hands full with trying to keep her eye on and training all three dwarflings in front of her, undisciplined as they were yet despite their eagerness. Their audience was steadily growing, too, and soon enough the other dwarrows of their travelling company were clustered around them. More and less helpful suggestions were thrown in from all sides as everyone obviously seemed to know what the best way was to train their little ones.

Even Dwalin, sweating and slightly out of breath from his match with Thorin, couldn't resist to throw in a few remarks about which stance the young dwarrows should be adopting next. Varna cocked an eyebrow at her younger son, a plan already half-forming in her mind. When it became obvious that her three pupils were becoming tired, she signalled them to stop and showed them how to loosen their muscles.

"There's one last lesson I have for you." she told them, amused when they were all trying to hide an exhausted sigh and resigned themselves to more exercise.

"Dwalin?"

Dwalin stood up a little straighter, a reflex so burned into him from his childhood days whenever one of his parents addressed him that Varna had to suppress a smile at the sight.

"Care for another fight?"

Her son's eyes widened slightly. Whatever he had expected from his mother, it certainly wasn't this. Dwalin shifted uncomfortably, the hesitation apparent in his face.

"But Amad, I could hurt you."

This time, Varna was unable to suppress her smile. It was true - Dwalin had always been exceptionally gifted at fighting and handling his weapons, an ability that had quickly silenced those dwarrows who had insisted that he obtained the position as the prince's bodyguard only due to his distant relation with him. Although Varna wasn't by far the worst at fighting with her axes, she also knew that if it were purely a question of ability she might not be able to beat her son. However, it wasn't - and there were several things that she possessed which her son was lacking as of yet. She picked up her wooden training weapon from earlier and raised it in a wordless challenge.

Stubbornness had always been a family trait of the Line of Durin and although married into it, Varna was no exception. Dwalin knew it would have been pointless to convince her to give up the fight, and so he lifted his own weapon, already dented and cracked from the sparring with Thorin. His movements were hesitant at first, but quickly gained in speed and force once he noticed that there was no need to go soft on his mother.

Fundin's eyes were brimming with pride as he watched his wife and son fight each other. Even without prior knowledge it was clear that they were related - despite Dwalin's style being based on more brute force than Varna's, there was a certain pattern and fluency to their movements that was strikingly similar. It was also different from when Dwalin was fighting Thorin - with the prince he didn't hold back at all, had no regard for his own or the other's safety, his body always in perfect tune with Thorin's. They weren't fighting so much against each as with each other. With his mother, however, it was clear this was a fight, each one of them trying to gain the upper hand and failing.

Varna stepped sideways to avoid one of Dwalin's slashes and, in the same movement, did a small turn that brought her onto her son's momentarily unprotected side. Her following blow with her wooden axe was expected and Dwalin quickly blocked it with his own weapon. What he didn't expect, however, was the quick flick of Varna's wrist which catapulted her weapon into her other hand, enabling her to land a hit on Dwalin's shoulder from behind and throw him off-balance. Her son stumbled and caught his fall at the last second to avoid landing on his behind like an untrained dwarfling. He was too slow, however, to avoid Varna's wooden blade coming to rest at his throat.

The different realisations and questions dawning on Dwalin's face were almost comical. There was anger and shame in his eyes, but also admiration for the dwarrowdam who had beat him and not a small amount of surprise at her last movement, which had been completely unknown to him. Varna grinned and lowered her axe, satisfied that her little trick had worked.

"Don't forget," she said, turning again to her young pupils who were staring at her with eyes as wide as saucers. "Skill isn't the only thing that counts. Experience is at least as important - as is asking other warriors to show you their best tricks."

Fundin's grin at the words of his wife was so wide that his face must be hurting from it. It had been him who had taught Varna the small movement she had deployed last - and her who had taught him a certain method to disarm your opponent when you'd lost your own weapon. There was no doubt that Dwalin was a great fighter, but sometimes he lacked a little in modesty, too sure of himself and his skill. The lesson was an important one and it didn't hurt to remind him. Dwalin was evidently already over his hurt pride and his eyes were glinting with a sudden mischief as he turned around to his mother.

"And don't be afraid to play dirty if it's necessary." he said with a grin before he tackled Varna to the ground. A surprised 'oof' escaped the dwarrowdam at the sudden movement, but she recovered soon enough from the attack and continued to wrestle her son amongst the dry leaves. Soon the tension dissolved into laughter, none of them taking their little brawl overly serious anymore. When he had been but a tiny dwarfling, Dwalin and his brother both used to wrestle with their parents, usually within the safe confines of their own quarters in Erebor.

A smile stretched over Balin's and Fundin's faces at the fond memories. They hadn't seen Dwalin and Varna laugh like this since the dragon had laid waste to their homes. The others were surprised at the display before the light-heartedness of the situation proved too infectious to resist. When Dwalin and Varna finally stopped, both breathing heavily and looking rather dishevelled, there was an array of smiles on the faces around them. Fundin offered him a hand when Dwalin hoisted himself up from the ground, Balin pulling their mother back on her legs. Suddenly rather self-conscious, Dwalin dusted himself off, trying to remove all the dried leaves and dirt from his clothes.

"He's right." Varna said towards the dwarflings, a sparkle in her eye and completely unfazed by the streaks of dirt on her clothing, "If the situation calls for it in a true fight, you shouldn't hesitate to use seemingly unfair methods. Nobody really fights valiantly in a true battle and if they do, they die fairly quickly."

"But what about honour?" Dori's voice piped up. "Surely fighting like that isn't honourable!"

The older dwarrows exchanged glances. How do you explain to a young dwarfling that honour doesn't help you survive in a true battle when all the legends tell stories about the importance of it?

"It is important, yes." Fundin said slowly. "Especially when you are sparring or fighting side by side with your comrades. Never desert them. Your enemy, however, does not always act honourable and if they don't, you have to be prepared to strike back. They will use their hands and feet, tooth and nail to fight you and you shouldn't be afraid to make use of these things either. What is important is that you survive, you hear me?"

The three young dwarrows nodded hesitantly whilst the rest of the group watched silently. Every one of them had been forced to learn this lesson before. Frerin thought back to his first battle on the journey with a shudder, the empty eyes as his blade slipped through the man's ribs still clear in his mind. He wondered whether his little sister was remembering the fight as well, having watched it from a distance and having heard and seen their opponents die in it.

The sombre silence that had settled on their group was once again broken by Varna.

"You did well today." she said with a smile in the direction of her pupils. "Would you like to continue the next time we stop to practise?"

Her question was met with enthusiastic shouts of 'yes' and Varna grinned in her husband's direction, indicating that she would likely need some help sooner or later with keeping the three of them under control. With that, their little assembly was disbanded and everybody continued with the task of getting their camp ready for the night.

Dwalin was tasked with cleaning their pots and dishes after the evening meal, a job which he accepted with a faint scowl when his mother's eyes met his as she distributed their family's duties for the evening amongst the four of them. The grin on Balin's and Fundin's faces was wider than ever.

Thorin had been the one responsible for feeding and caring for the ponies together with Frerin, a task that he finished mostly before their supper. He was leaning onto a tree and watched as Dwalin determinedly scrubbed at a particularly stubborn stain on their well-used crockery, a small smile on his lips when he remembered how his friend had gotten himself in the situation in the first place.

Dwalin shot him an angry glance.

"If you're not here to help then get lost." he growled, although his voice was lacking any true enmity.

Thorin laughed in reply, but took a step forward in Dwalin's direction nonetheless.

"It's your own fault, Dwalin. Or did you really think you could get away with tackling your own ma to the ground? Amad told me that Fundin tried it once and got repaid with a black eye." he teased him.

"So I have to suffer humiliation all day just to have you come here to rub salt in the wound?" Dwalin's gruff reply elicited another laugh from Thorin who knew exactly how his friend meant his words.

"Always." Thorin's smile was wide and Dwalin found himself unable to hold up his fake grim facade any longer and mirrored his friend's expression with a grin of his own. Thorin wordlessly held out his hand and Dwalin threw him the second bag of the sand they used to scrub their pots clean, not without managing to splatter Thorin with some water in the same movement, an action that earned him an elbow in his rib in return. If it hadn't been for Balin's arrival, the situation might have erupted into a full-blown water battle.

Dwalin's brother had taken pity and helped Thorin and him to finish the cleaning and drying of all their cooking equipment, cutlery and crockery they had used for eating. Their laughter after a while could be heard all the way back the camp, where Fundin and Varna were leaning against each other arm in arm and smiling at the sound.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all - apologies that it took me so long to update! I usually try and publish at least *something* every weekend but between the London premiere (I'm still surprised we didn't catch a cold from all the waiting outside haha) and some personal stuff I just didn't have that much time to write - also, I am busy preparing some fics for Christmas which also takes some time :).
> 
> But here, after the light-heartedness of the last chapter, let's have sth a little more serious again. And let's talk about Lís! We haven't seen much of her so far.

After a few weeks further south their relative luck with the weather changed abruptly. So far it had been mostly, if not always dry and the sun had been out a fair few times. Within a single day, however, the weather took a sudden turn for the worse – a storm had suddenly started brewing on the horizon and was over their little travelling group in a matter of hours. They had been travelling on a path on the riverbank of a small river when the shutters of the sky opened and released so much water it could have probably filled Esgaroth twice over. They had just enough time to move into the relative shelter of a slightly overbearing cliff before becoming completely drenched.

Fundin was swearing loudly at the sight, already contemplating how they would be able to find an even remotely dry place to sleep that night. His brother Gróin, however, was the one who spotted the much more immediate danger – the level of the small river in the valley had slowly begun to rise, fed by the masses of water coming down from above.

“We need to move.” There was an urgency in Gróin’s eyes and voice that stood in stark contrast to his usually calm demeanour. None dared to challenge his words – not when the water had already started to cover a good part of the riverbank and would soon reach the path they had been walking on .

With a variety of mumbled curses their group set out again, even their oiled hoods and cloaks barely a protection against the rain and howling storm. They tried to stay as close together as possible since it was hard to see through the rain. Thorin shuddered when he thought of what could potentially happen if they lost one or more of their party – it could easily mean death, especially if they fell into the river that was still growing in size right next to their feet.

The smallest of their group were taken care of by their relatives – Hulda had her son Dori securely on her back, Lís and Gróin were shielding Óin in their middle and Frerin was carrying his little sister, Thorin always at his side to catch them both should he slip and fall. The wind howling around them was far too loud to talk, but nonetheless the relieved sigh of the Company could almost be felt when the path they were on began to point upwards, away from the water that had by now started to submerge parts of their walking ground. Varna wasn’t the only one who eyed the slope that the path seemed to snake up on with wary eyes – the ground was no more than loose earth interspersed with a few rocks and seemed rather perilous to walk upon. Still, they had no choice.

They led their ponies upwards with careful steps, trying to take as much load off them as they could so the animals wouldn’t sink too deeply into the soft ground and slip. Thráin and Thrór were amongst the first to reach the top of the slope, Thráin helping his father to find a secure place to rest whilst waiting for the others. Balin and Dwalin brought up the rear, ready to catch their companions should any of lose their footing. Almost half of their group had reached the top of the slope now, hands helpfully extended to help those who were still climbing. Thráin had returned to help the rest of his family, watchful eyes cast on Frerin, Thorin and Dís as they stumbled up the muddy and treacherously slick pathway in front of Lís and Gróin who covered the ground before the sons of Fundin.

The ground gave in moments before the last ones of their group had reached the top of the slope. Balin gave a loud shout when he caught the earth shifting, knowing they wouldn’t make it up to the edge before the ground under their feet would turn into a landslide. He gave his brother a shove that made Dwalin stumble forward so that he could get catch his mother’s hand who had thrown herself onto a few rocks on the safe ground above to hold on to at least one of her sons. Gróin had been thinking with the speed of light, digging his feet in the ground against the earth sliding down all around him and thus providing enough leverage for his wife and little son to heft themselves up onto the safety of the rocks at the edge above.

“BALIN!” Dwalin’s shout was panicked when he saw his brother gradually losing halt on the ground and slipping down towards the river, getting further out of reach. The only thing that prevented him from jumping after him were his mother’s and father’s arms locking around him, shouting in his ear over the howling of the wind and the rumbling of the moving earth to stay.

Another shriek made them whip their heads around. Frerin, who had already reached safety with Dís in his arms, was now perilously close to falling as well. The edge that he had been standing on was slowly giving in to the constant onslaught of rain and the combined weight of him and his sister, threatening to pull them both down. Thorin jumped forward to grab the two of them, but he wasn’t fast enough – the only thing he could catch was the edge of Frerin’s cloak. His father, however, had been standing closer and as such managed to get hold of Frerin’s hand before he could get lost between the rocks and the earth tumbling down into the raging waters below.

Frerin held onto his father’s hand, eyes wide with fear. Thráin managed to pull both him and Dís up onto the safe ground behind him once Thorin had finally caught hold of his brother’s hand and steadied him. Thorin was just about to help his father up as well when the ground suddenly gave in under their combined weight, sending Thorin, Thráin and Gróin, who had still been trying to scramble up after saving his family, sliding down towards the river. Someone shouted his name and an arm shot forward and closed around Thorin’s hand, keeping him from following his father and distant uncle down. He looked up to see worried eyes of grey before he was hauled up onto the perilous safety of the edge once more.

Nobody spoke, the steady patter of rain, rushing of water and howling of wind the only sounds in the air. The riverbank they had been walking on just moments ago had been annihilated almost completely, a large spot of fresh earth the only remnant of the slope that seemed to be staring back at them like an open wound. The water had risen so high by now that it was impossible to discern the path where they had come from and there was no sign of the three that had been lost. They could only hope that Balin, Gróin and Thráin hadn’t been buried amongst the masses of rock and earth tumbling down the slope, but had found their way into the water and been able to crawl out further down the river. Nobody wanted to think about that they all wore heavy clothing and were therefore likely to be dragged down into the rushing floods rather than swim.

After the moment of initial shock had passed their group erupted into chaos. Dwalin was still shouting his brother’s name, not caring that it was in vain. Fundin’s grip never left his arm, fingers clamped firmly around him lest Dwalin jump into the river after Balin. His hand, however, was trembling and it was clear just how close he and Varna were to breaking down. Lís was clutching Óin firmly to her chest, murmuring soothing words into his hair and trying to hide her own shock. Frerin was still staring wide-eyed at the place where Thráin had tumbled down the slope, hand unconsciously stroking Dís’ head where his sister was crying and clutching his leg. Thorin felt as if someone had dropped ice on his chest, unable to breathe or catch a single clear thought, the scene of his father and Gróin falling replaying over and over in his mind. He didn’t even register the shouting behind him until Hulda’s loud voice demanded all of their attention. She was trying to restrain the ponies with Nár’s help, but two dwarrows weren’t enough to cope with all their pack animals even though they had lost one of it on the slope as well.

“My king.” Nár was talking softly to Thrór, leaving Fundin’s family to deal with the rest of the ponies who were thankful for the distraction. “We need your guidance now. What are we supposed to do? Where shall we go?”

“I-“ Thrór’s eyes were flittering around nervously as if he had just now grasped the enormity of the situation. His hands were shivering and he seemed at an utter loss of what to do. Thorin felt a sting of pain through the numbness the earlier events had left inside him; his grandfather had once been a mighty king and to see him brought so low by fate and his own madness hurt. Praying for his forgiveness, Thorin stepped forward.

“Fundin, Varna, Nár - take the ponies and lead them under the cover of the trees over there and try and set up camp.” he said with a calmness in his voice that he didn’t feel. “Frerin, try and see if there is anything that has been lost in the confusion and pick it up to bring it with you. Hulda, you take care of Óin and Dís for a moment whilst the animals are being restrained and then help with the camp. Dwalin, Lís, you come with me. We will walk further downstream and see if we can find the others.”

His commanding tone left no time for doubts and secretly most of his companions were grateful for a piece of work that helped distract them from thinking too much about what had just happened. Thorin made sure that his orders were being carried out, trying no to dwell for too long on what he had just done, and turned around to discern where the path was that would lead them further downstream. It was more of a muddy trench than a true walkway, but better than nothing. The rain was still coming down heavily when Thorin set out with his two companions, but at least they were now able to see further than the next rock again.

Silence reigned in their little group when they followed the curves of the river, everyone keeping their eyes trained on the muddy waters to their left for any sign of their kin. They were all afraid of what they might find, none of them ready to face the worst of the possible outcomes yet. Thorin tried to banish the image of his father’s dead eyes staring at him from the murky waters of the river from his mind, but Thráin’s gaze was following him in his thoughts with every step he was taking. Dwalin and Lís didn’t seem to be faring much better, Dwalin’s face dark and brooding and Lís’ brow furrowed in concern for her husband.

It seemed like an eternity until they finally found signs of the missed ones. They had all been hoping for it and dreading what they would find at the same time, none of them willing to face the possibility of death yet again, so shortly after Smaug had ripped so many out of their midst. When they heard weak shouting and saw a bright flash of colour amongst the dark browns and greys of the landscape below Dwalin almost stumbled in relief.

“Balin!” He shouted his brother’s name as soon as he caught the glimpse of dark red fabric. After a moment they could also make out the form of another dwarrow next to him and Thorin could hear Lís take a deep breath when she recognised the shape of her husband. Thráin, however, was nowhere to be seen. Panic surged up inside Thorin and for the space of a thought all he could hear was his own heartbeat echoing loudly in his ears before he forced himself back into reality again.

Dwalin and Lís had in the meanwhile begun to search for a way down to help the two dwarrows at the edge of the river. Thankfully, the slope was less steep here and soon enough they spied a way down, not far away from where they were standing at the moment. Lís was the first down the little pathway, Dwalin right on her heels and Thorin trailing a short distance behind them, all the while looking for a sign of his father.

The riverbed was wider here than it had been before and it was probably the only reason that the two dwarrows had been able to crawl out onto the small stretch of riverbank still left in the first place. Gróin was sitting hunched over, coughing heavily and trying in vain to get an unresponsive Balin to move. An anguished cry left Dwalin’s throat at the sight of his brother and he fell down on his knees next to the two of them, staring down at Balin’s pale, unmoving face.

Lís had embraced her husband from behind in an unusual display of affection for both of them, the relief in her face mingling with horror at the sight of Balin.

“ _Nadad_.” Dwalin whispered, cradling his brother’s face in his hands. There was blood running down his forehead from a jagged wound disappearing into the edge of his hair and Thorin guessed that Balin must have hit a rock during his fall or in the river. With a careful movement he forced one of Dwalin’s hands aside to feel for Balin’s pulse and breathed in deeply when he discovered a faint thump beneath his fingers after a moment.

“He’s alive.” Dwalin didn’t seem to hear him, clutching his brother close and shaking him, calling his name and trying in vain to wake him up.

“Dwalin!” Thorin put his hands on his friend’s shoulders and shook him slightly. “He’s alive! He’s still breathing!”

The use of slight force seemed to have done the trick for Dwalin finally looked up. Thorin almost shrank back at the amount of sheer terror and loss he could read in his eyes.

“We need to get him back to the others.” he said more softly. “Can you stand?” The last question was directed at Gróin who nodded hesitantly. Lís pulled her husband up, supporting him when his legs threatened to give out beneath him.

“We’ll be fine.” she stated resolutely with another look at Balin. Dwalin carefully turned his brother around, only to hold on more tightly when Balin coughed weakly, his eyelids fluttering. Another cough and a bout of muddy water came past Balin’s lips, Dwalin stroking his brothers back and thumping it carefully to help him get rid of all that he had swallowed. Although he still didn’t open his eyes, Balin’s breathing was coming easier now and Dwalin attempted a little relieved smile when he looked at him.

“You scared me there, big brother.”

Balin chuckled weakly in reply.

“’m sorry.” he mumbled, trying to open his eyes. The movement obviously hurt more than he had anticipated since he hissed in pain and closed them again, the hit on his head obviously not without effect.

“Don’t move.” Dwalin’s voice was barely more than a soothing rumble. “We’ll get you back as soon as possible.”

With movements that seemed to be far too tender and careful for a dwarrow his size he lifted Balin up and onto his back with Thorin’s help. He declined any other support with carrying his brother, holding him in a firm grip to make sure he wouldn’t fall. Relief and concern were still warring on his face but Thorin was sure he would get Balin safely back to the others.

Somehow all five of them made it up the slope back to the little path again without slipping or stumbling. Thorin hesitated once they had reached the top – he longed to see the others safely back to the place they had stopped at for now, longed to hear that Balin would indeed be fine and have no lasting damage. On the other hand he felt an almost physical urge now to search for his father. Gróin hadn’t been able to tell him anything else apart from that Thráin had been separated from them, tangled in and unable to get free from the reins of the one pony that had fallen in, too. If he was to be found anywhere then it was further downstream. Despite the gravity of such news, Thorin still held on to the vain hope that his father wasn’t dead, that he would be fine if he could but get to him in time.

Although his mind was still mostly occupied with his own brother, Dwalin noticed the distress in Thorin’s eyes and for a moment he felt ashamed that he had almost forgotten that Thráin was still missing. Now that Balin’s form was reassuringly heavy on his back he saw how haunted Thorin’s face looked.

“Don’t go far. I’ll come back here as soon as Balin is safe with the others.” With a second look at his friend’s face he added: “Don’t worry, Thorin. We’ll find him.”

Thorin didn’t smile at his reply like he would have done in better times, but the gratitude in his eyes was still apparent. He had long given up the thought that fate would favour any of the Line of Durin.

“I’ll come too.” Lís announced, still supporting her husband with one side of her body. They both turned around to her, not having expected such a courtesy. Yes, the dwarrowdam was part of their larger family as much any other dwarrow with them (even Hulda and her son were almost considered kin now in all but name), but she had always been on the quiet side, sticking to her immediate family and rarely talking to others although she never shied back from fulfilling her tasks in the group. There was no mistaking her strength and resolution, however, when she met Thorin’s gaze head-on. Dwalin had never noticed, but her eyes were dark brown, a warm colour like that of fertile earth.

Thorin nodded and graciously accepted her offer. Gróin was watching his One with pride in his eyes, a small smile playing around his lips despite the exhaustion and the fact that he was shivering with cold by now. He knew that she came across as reserved and shy, but he also knew that his wife had a heart made of gold and steel, shining so brightly that he was still blinded every time he looked at her.

Dwalin and Lís made her way back to what would hopefully be a provisional camp by now providing at least some measure of shelter from the rain. Thorin remained behind, looking further along the path for any trace of his father although Dwalin hoped he wouldn’t go far. He’d never had a great sense of direction even in Erebor where he had grown up; and Dwalin didn’t feel like spending the rest of the day running around in the forest, fretting over Balin’s health, Thorin’s whereabouts and Thráin’s life.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [apologies if you see this twice - I only just noticed that either I or AO3 have managed to screw up the order of the chapters so I'm reposting it to have it in its proper place ;)]
> 
> Time to introduce a new character! And ofc reveal Thráin's fate. I hope you're having as much fun reading this chapter as I had writing it.

The arrival of Balin, Dwalin, Lís and Gróin was greeted with much relief. The others had managed to set up a makeshift camp whilst they had been gone, protecting them all from the worst of the rain. Varna and Fundin immediately hurried to Dwalin’s side and carefully lifted Balin off his back. Gróin was greeted with a shout of ‘ _Adad!_ ’ from his little son and Lís had to keep him from pummelling her husband to the ground in his eagerness to embrace both his father and mother at the same time. Frerin looked almost frightened when he asked Dwalin about Thorin’s and his father’s whereabouts and Dwalin was quick to reassure him that no, nothing had happened to Thorin and yes, they would surely find his father although the young prince still didn’t look entirely convinced.

Balin’s state worried them all. Varna gently lowered him to the ground and looked him over, forehead creased in worry. He seemed to be mostly unharmed apart from a few scrapes and the wound on his head, but was still having trouble to keep his eyes open, let alone move by himself. Dwarves were usually hardy and their bones not easily injured and they seldomly became ill, so a condition that seemed to have no big physical wounds to accompany it was more than unusual.

“Let me see.” Hulda’s voice rang through the group. Varna and Fundin moved to make some space for the dwarrowdam who kneeled down next to Balin and very carefully checked his pupils and the wound on his head.

“It’s a concussion.” Many of the dwarrows around her frowned, having rarely heard the word before. “Ari was in a mining accident once when the stubborn idiot wasn’t wearing his helmet. A stone hit him on the head and he was just like Balin now. One of the old healers told me that sometimes it happens and that the affected should move as little as possible until the pain is subsiding. You can let him sleep, but someone should wake him up every few hours.”

Her voice faltered slightly when she talked about her husband who had lost his life during the attack of the dragon on their home. Varna gave her a nod that conveyed both respect and her thanks although her eyes were still full with worry when she looked down at her older son.

As soon as Dwalin was sure that his brother would indeed be fine he was eager to help Thorin with the search for his father. Lís ensured that Gróin was safe and seen to before she, too, stood up again to accompany Dwalin. Offers from the others to come with them were quickly declined with a nod at the two injured ones in the party and all the tasks that needed to be finished before sundown.

He and Lís set out swiftly, their feet sped along by the nagging worry in their hearts of what might have happened to Thráin. They reached the side where they had pulled their kin out of the water and Dwalin spun on his heel to find Thorin. Both the riverside and the forest in their immediate surroundings, however, were empty. Thorin was gone.

Dwalin cursed.

*

Thorin frowned as he looked at his surroundings. He had originally planned to stay at the same place until Dwalin and Lís returned, but after a few moments the worry for his father had overtaken everything else and become so strong that he just _had_ to start searching. He followed the path at the riverside further down the stream, hoping that Dwalin would simply follow it as well when he saw that Thorin was gone.

He kept a wary eye on the swirling brown waters of the river, always looking for the dark red that would signal his father’s clothing. There was no trace of him, however, or of the pony they had lost. Thorin tried to ignore the nagging feeling of worry in his stomach that told him his father’s chances to have survived lowered by the minute with increasing distance downstream. Thráin couldn’t be dead, he _couldn’t_. Not when there were still so many things left unsaid between them.

An irregularity in the ground caught his attention. He was by no means overly adept at reading tracks, but he had learned a few things during the past months and even to his untrained eye it was clear that these were the footsteps of at least one person leading away from the river edge and into the forest. For him to be able to see them so clearly despite the ongoing rain they had to be relatively new. On closer inspection he didn’t think that they belonged to any dwarf either – all of his travelling group were wearing heavy boots, often reinforced with iron, as was the custom amongst his kin. These tracks looked as if they had been made by softer footwear.

Thorin frowned and bent down, following the tracks to the riverside and ignoring the little rivulets of water running down his face from his hair. It looked like there had been something in the muck next to the swirling brown waters of the stream – the smooth pattern of the ground was disturbed as if something heavy had laid there. Thorin’s heart seemed to stop for a moment before hammering on in a frantic beat when caught sight of a piece of red fabric wedged between two small rocks.

With trembling fingers he picked it up, eyeing the frayed ends and remnants of golden stitching. It had definitely been part of his father’s wardrobe. Someone must have found him. Thorin could only hope that they were unlike most who they had encountered so far and favourably inclined towards dwarves.

He followed the tracks a short way down the path and then into the woods. It was harder to recognise the changes on the ground here amongst all the leaves, branches and debris and for a moment, Thorin hesitated. It would do him no good to get lost in the woods – but neither could he truly afford to wait until Dwalin and Lís had come. If the unknown person had evil in mind every moment would be important. The sooner he could find his father, the better. Dwalin would know where he went, he hoped.

With a last look back at the river Thorin decided to venture further into the woods. The faint traces on the ground he could spot from time to time where the only things keeping him from getting lost. He didn’t even think about how he would find his way back when the rain had washed everything away.

Soon he was surrounded by tall trees to every side, all of them looking completely the same to him. He walked as soundlessly as he was able to and his ears strained to pick up anything that felt like it was out of place in the forest. He stopped dead in his tracks when he heard the crackling of a fire and someone rummaging. He drew his sword, careful to make as little noise as possible. His weapon raised he slowly ventured closer, step by step.

Thorin was able to make out two different shapes in a small clearing – one lying motionless on the ground and another, taller and less bulky, who was taking items out of some opened packs spread on the earth. With a lurch in his chest Thorin recognised that the motionless one was his father although he was too far away to truly discern his face or the state he was in. The other person he had never met – he would have remembered someone like that, he was sure. Clad in travel-stained and worn garments the woman was focused on the packs in front of her although her stance and every movement spoke of wariness. She noticed Thorin only moments later and jumped to her feet, drawing a curved blade from her back with a single fluid movement.

“Who’s there?” she called out, dark eyes scanning her surroundings.

Thorin was torn between storming right onto the clearing with his weapon raised and getting his father out of there as fast as possible or remaining where he was until she had settled down again and he could approach further. A soft groan from Thráin quickly took care of his problem. Taking a deep breath he stepped into the clearing as fast as he could, not quite running but immediately moving to his father’s side. The woman didn’t attack, but her eyes followed his every move.

“What have you done to my father?” Thorin snarled.

“You’re his kin?” The woman didn’t seem intimidated by the dwarrow. When she posed her own question instead of answering his, Thorin almost bristled. He didn’t need to justify himself.

“I am. What have you done to him?” he repeated, not willing to let the issue go.

“I found him at the riverside earlier. If I hadn’t dragged him out he would have died.” She stared defiantly at him, now seemingly annoyed.

Thorin still didn’t quite believe her. His sword still raised he stepped behind his father so he could get down and check his state without losing sight of the woman. Thráin’s chest was rising and falling slowly, but his face looked deathly pale and he was clearly unconscious, if not in immediate danger of dying. His clothes were ripped and dripping with water and there were several angry looking red wounds visible through cuts and tears in the fabric.

“Several of his ribs are broken and if I don’t clean out the cuts they’ll get infected. Would you like your father to die?” Thorin almost snarled again when he heard her words, but she seemed entirely unfazed by his rage, blade still in a firm grip in her hand. He’d rather have his own kin look at Thráin than any outsider, but if what she said was true – Thorin didn’t know too much of healing, but even he knew that it was dangerous to move those with broken ribs. He still didn’t trust the woman and her words, but something told him his father needed the help.

“Do you think you can help him?” he asked cautiously.

“Yes.” was the simple reply. “I’m a ranger, one of the Dúnedain. “

Thorin frowned. The name rang a faint bell in his mind as something that had been mentioned in his lessons as young dwarfling. He dimly remembered that they were of the race of Men, living in and guarding the Wild Lands of the North. Thorin didn’t remember much beyond those facts so her words did little to reassure him. At least she seemed to have great confidence in her own abilities, if not much patience or skill in diplomacy.

With a sigh she lowered her weapon, but still kept a firm grip on it as she took a few steps towards them. The annoyance in her gaze was clear when she returned to rummaging in her packs, all the while keeping an eye on the two dwarrows in her little camp. Thorin still didn’t relinquish the hold on his sword, but he felt himself relaxing slowly as he watched her. Despite the lingering suspicion and mistrust between them he couldn’t help but hope that she might be able to help. When the woman approached him again, her blade now tucked into her belt and a number of herbs stuffed into her pockets, he made space for her although for nothing in the world he would have stepped completely away from his father’s side.

The woman’s movements were sparse but sure, speaking of a clear knowledge of what she was doing. Thorin noticed the streaks of grime and dirt on her dark skin as she was working, although her hands were clean. For some reason the sight reminded him of his mother when Sigvór had left the forges after finishing her work there, coming home with her arms still streaked with soot and the little frown of concentration not yet vanished from her face. The memory hurt like an arrow stuck deeply in his flesh.

“Looks like his right arm’s broken too and he twisted his ankle.” The woman’s voice was barely more than a murmur, betraying her focus on the task in front of her. “And he seems to have swallowed a lot of water. There might also be some internal damage, but it’s hard to say, especially since he still hasn’t woken up.”

She voiced her statements matter-of-factly, seemingly preferring the naked truth to any emotional embellishments.

“Can you do anything to help him?” Thorin tried to keep any sound of desperation out of his voice - the last thing he wanted was to appear weak in front of her. But he couldn’t help a tiny note of it creeping into his question anyway.

“I can set his bones and clean all the superficial cuts and help him regain some strength with the right medicine, but the most important thing for him will be rest.”

Thorin nodded, casting another concerned glance at his father. Despite all the differences between them he was still family and the dwarrow who had brought him up over so many decades, had carried him around on his shoulders, proudly giving him his first own weapon and threading the beads that marked him as royal heir into his hair and beard for the first time. The hard lines on the ranger’s face softened a little when she noticed his gaze.

“There is a big chance that he will be fine.” she said more softly, not willing to make any promises but also trying to reassure the dwarrow in front of her. “But he shouldn’t be moved any more today to avoid further injuries.”

Thorin nodded at her words, allowing a tiny bit of relief to flood back into his body. The second part of her statement, however, posed an entirely different problem to him: he had no desire to spend the night alone with his unconscious father in the camp of unknown folk and he was loathe to leave Thráin alone even for a moment to call for help from the rest of his kin. Thorin could only hope that Dwalin and Lís would draw the same conclusions as him, follow his path and so eventually find him. For now there was nothing more to do than stay with his father and try to remain on their host’s good side.

“How did you find him?” He had always hated making forced conversation, especially when his grandfather had held court, but suddenly Thorin found that he was curious about the woman next to him. She seemed slightly taken aback by the question, but answered nonetheless after a moment.

“I was hunting and following some tracks at the riverside when I saw your father’s shape on the riverbank. It’s against our ethos to refuse anybody help who might need it, so I brought him here to tend to his wounds.”

Her reasoning only served to intensify Thorin’s curiosity about a folk that extended their principles and morals onto other races besides their own. He wished he had paid more attention when their teacher had talked about Men and the Dúnedain.

“But why didn’t you look for his kin?” he asked after a moment of thinking. The woman just raised her eyebrows.

“I didn’t know there was anybody else here. What are you dwarves doing in these parts anyway?” Thorin felt tempted to answer her question with the simple notion that this wasn’t her business – but a look at his father who seemed to be breathing a lot easier now that she had finished working on him stilled the words on his tongue. She had done nothing wrong; she had even helped when others would have turned away. He didn’t have to reveal that they were from Erebor, after all.

“We have come from the Iron Hills and are on our way southwest to search for new grounds to settle on.”

If such information seemed strange to her, the woman gave no signs. It was well known that dwarves rarely travelled outside the purposes of trading and that they were all loathe to leave their homes and caves for too long a time.

“’We’? How many are there in your travelling group?” Thorin couldn’t tell whether she sounded suspicious or simply surprised.

“My family and our closest kin, as well as a few more of our folk.” He wouldn’t give away the location of their camp up the river. The past few months had taught him always to be careful and it was a hard habit to abandon.

“Ah.” The ranger moved away from him and proceeded to wash her hands. She checked the kettle that was on the fire and pulled out two mugs and a few herbs from one of the various small pouches hidden in her packs. As soon as the hot water hit the dried leaves a pungent smell wafted through the air in Thorin’s direction. It was strong and unknown, but by no means bad. With a nod the ranger offered him one of the two mugs in her hand. Thorin accepted it after a moment of hesitation.

“My name is Namara, daughter of Aleith and wife of Arathorn, son of Arassuil.”

Thorin nodded. With her words and the gesture of offering him tea she had also offered him her protection and the silent promise that no harm would come to him or his kin at her fire. Her husband’s name sounded more than a little familiar to him, as did that of her father-in-law. If he remembered them so clearly then he had likely heard about them more than once and they were the leaders of the Dúnedain. He even recalled a hazy memory of a strange tall man in dirty clothes carrying the name of ‘Arassuil’ visiting the Halls of the Mountain when he had been very young.

“Thorin, son of Thráin.” He accepted her offer and, in turn, vowed to extend the same trust to her she was giving to him. Thorin thought it unnecessary to add any other titles to his name. After all, the kingdom he had been the heir to was no more. His name, however, seemed not entirely unknown to Namara – her eyes lit up briefly at the mention of his name and she inclined her head slightly.

“It seems like I will have noble company at my fire tonight then. Be welcome, Thorin, son of Thráin.”

“My thanks. It seems like I am in the company of one of noble family myself.”

Namara quietly acknowledged his statement. Before Thorin could inquire further as to her family, however, a faint call echoed throughout the forest surrounding them.

“Thorin?”

He released a breath that he didn’t even know he had been holding. Dwalin and Lís were here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone wondering - Namara's husband is Arathorn the First, not the second (the latter who is Aragorn II's aka LOTR Aragorn's father). He isn't chief of the Dúnedain yet because his father is still alive at the time that Erebor has fallen. Also, female rangers FTW!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Dúnedain in this chapter (because I love them and that's a fact. Yep.)! Also grumpy dwarves and a whole lot of discussing things.

Dwalin and Lís were standing side by side, both of them with weapons in hand and eyes darting back and forth between Thorin, Thráin and Namara. They seemed to sense that there was no immediate danger in the air since neither of them attacked - Thorin didn't doubt that they would have done so had they thought something was wrong. Their expressions, however, were still wary, especially when they were looking at Thráin's still form. Namara watched the two new strangers with a mixture of apprehension and annoyance on her face, obviously weary of explaining herself over and over again and expecting Thorin to make introductions.

"Lower your arms." Thorin sighed. He noted well how both of them followed his command to the word, taking a seemingly less aggressive stance, but still firmly gripping the handles of their weapons since Thorin hadn't told them to let go of them.

"Dwalin, Lís, this is Namara, daughter of Aleith, one of the Dúnedain and wife to the chieftain's son." The two of them nodded, but didn't extend a welcome of their own yet. Thorin sighed again, even though he could hardly fault his people for being distrustful. After all he himself hadn't been better only moments ago and for good reason. They had all learnt not to trust strangers, as friendly as they might seem at first.

"Namara, allow me to introduce Dwalin, son of Fundin and Lís, daughter of Fís and wife to Gróin, both also of Durin's Line. They are my companions and friends on the travel from the Iron Hills."

Namara still looked suspicious but invited her two new guests to sit at her fire next to Thorin with a gesture of her hand.

"They are welcome at my fire if they so want." Dwalin and Lís still weren't moving, the worry about Thráin clearly etched into their faces. Thorin cursed the stubbornness of his line and promised himself to set a better example and not be so obstinate in the future anymore.

"Namara has found my father at the riverside and brought him here; her actions have likely saved his life." A small sigh of relief went up from the two dwarrows at his words and with a nod into the ranger's direction Dwalin took a seat on the ground next to Thorin, accepting the offered cup of additional tea. Lís was warier, but a after a moment of hesitation she, too, seated herself and drank some of the tea Namara had prepared. There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments of silence before Namara spoke again.

"So, where are you planning on going then? It will be hard to find lands for you to settle in that are not already occupied."

"It is not for me to decide." Thorin replied cautiously, well aware that his grandfather still held the ultimate authority about their group even if he rarely exercised it nowadays. And then there was his father with whom he was still at odds about more than one decision made during the course of the journey. "We had planned on continuing further southwest, seeing that both the north and the east are teeming with unsavoury folk."

"A good decision." Namara nodded. As if she wanted to avoid sounding too condescending she added: "My folk is known for wandering far and wide throughout the lands of Middle-earth. I have seen many a place before and since my son's birth and would advise you on where it is best not to go."

None of them thought to question Namara's statement - Thorin was sure that at least Dwalin's knowledge about the Dúnedain was even hazier than his, but they all knew that the rangers did not truly have a firm settlement or city they called home but guarded the lands of the North instead and spend most of their lives on the move, men as well as women.

"There was talk of heading towards the land beyond the Misty Mountains." Thorin says hesitantly with a look at his father who likely wouldn't be pleased about him sharing those plans with outsiders. Namara nods at his words, visibly thinking through the implication of what he just said.

"Head further south then once you are on a height with the southern borders of Mirkwood. Cross the Brown Lands and head towards Rohan - using the gap of Rohan should allow you to get through the mountains unseen by most of the unsavoury folk that lurk further north towards Fangorn and the mines of Moria. The horse lords are friendly enough people if treated with respect and will likely let you through."

Thorin felt himself stiffen at the mention of Moria and could feel that the ones next to him were faring no different. Khazad-dûm, the ancient home of their folk, founded by Durin himself - and yet, not only the brightest jewel in their history but also one of the darkest chapters. Every dwarf longed in his heart to return to their ancient home and reclaim what had been lost there, but most knew that such endeavour would be one paid for with death at the hands of the foulness breeding there now.

Namara noticed the change in her guest's demeanour and frowned.

"Apologies if I have offended you by talking about the ancient mines. Yet, you should not venture through there, only few who have gone in have also come out again and even fewer of those were still sound of mind."

Dwalin growled quietly.

"And yet our hearts grow hot when thinking about the halls our folk once called home, even when its proper name and history seems to be long forgotten by any but our kin."

Thorin decided not to intervene, knowing that his friend would take it as a slight if he did. And both Dwalin and Namara were right, in a way - nobody truly seemed to care that the dwarves' oldest home had been lost or seemed to recall the glory of earlier days. Instead they all talked about how the dwarrows had been too greedy and awakened the darkness deep, deep down, forging the path for orcs and goblins to return and take over the mines from them. Just as with the fall of Erebor, no help had ever come from any outside and nobody apart from them seemed to truly lament the loss of such beauty and treasure as Khazad-dûm had once been.

Namara quirked an eyebrow at Dwalin’s anger, clearly not having expected it.

“I intended no insult.” she said, even though she sounded slightly annoyed. “I simply suggest that you don’t venture near there unless you want to place unnecessary risk upon those in your Company.”

Thorin found it time to cut in now, seeing that Dwalin still wasn’t satisfied. He didn’t think that offending the one who had just saved his father’s life and still could be a danger to all of them would do them any good.

“And we thank you for your help. I will speak of your suggestion with the rest of my people and my father, once he is in better condition again. What else do you know of Rohan and the lands behind it? Will its people let us pass willingly?”

Namara accepted his offer for peace by taking a moment to carefully consider his question and all that she had heard and seen herself on the subject.

“As I said before – most of the people in Rohan are very reserved, but they hold guest right and honour in high regard. Nothing, however, is as dear to them as their horses – if you are lucky, you might be able to do a smith’s work there and gain some coin and even more of their trust that way. No matter what happens, though, they will certainly let you pass through their lands if you explain your purpose and that you do not mean them any evil. The lands beyond the gap of Rohan, however...I have never been there, myself, so I can only tell you what I have heard from other rangers. The tower of Orthanc guards the gap with the fortress of Isengard; only a decade ago a new watcher, one of the wizards, has been given the keys to it and set up residence there; he should let you pass without a problem.”

Thorin frowned; he had heard of the mysterious wizards, even briefly met one of them himself when he was young and his sister not born yet. It had been the fabled Tharkûn, but he didn’t remember much of him apart from an impossibly tall old man with a hat, staff and roaring laughter as he Thorin and the other dwarflings marvelled at his fireworks.

“There are few people living in Dunland as yet and they are mostly wandering folk or living in villages few and far between. They are hardy people, not always friendly and often in conflict with the horse lords of Rohan. Yet, they can be trusted in their own way and shouldn't trouble you over much, should you decide to settle in those lands or continue wandering."

Namara's eyes were clearly focused elsewhere as she was talking, likely remembering conversations with others and her own travels in the past. It was a look Thorin had seen a lot on Varna's and Gróin's faces when they had talked about their travels or that of others, their memory leading them back to places and events of the past. He took care to try and remember her words as accurately as he could - no doubt the information she was giving them might be vital for their next months of wandering.

"Thank you." he offered her once she had finished talking. "Your information is much appreciated."

"I'm glad to have been of help." she replied, inclining her head. Thorin looked over at Dwalin and Lís, and then at his father who still seemed to be caught in a state somewhere between sleep and unconsciousness.

"We should get back to the camp." he proposed and saw both dwarrows nod in reply. In a few hours it would get dark and he didn't want to spend the evening here, as much as his initial doubts about their host had lessened. Thráin should be with his own people when he woke up and no doubt Lís and Dwalin both wanted to know about their husband's and brother's state, respectively.

"Should I help you fashion a stretcher? It might be the easiest way..." Namara frowned when she looked over to the unconscious dwarf.

"No, I'll carry him." Her eyes widened slightly in disbelief, but Thorin met her stare head-on, challenging her to question his strength or object to it.

"If you wish. Just take care not to jostle him around too much or his bones might have to be set again. I will also give you some medicine that should help against any looming fever and the nausea and pain he will feel when waking up."

"My thanks." Thorin rose to his feet, the other three doing the same. He walked over to his father, carefully placing a hand on his forehead to feel for any developing fever whilst Namara was going through her packs again, taking out some herbs here and there and sealing them all in extra little leather pouches. He was just about to hoist Thráin on his back with Dwalin's and Lís' help when another, unknown voice rang over the little camp.

"Namara!" Everyone whirled around at the call, the dwarves having their weapons at the ready immediately. A man stood at the edge of the clearing, sword ready at his side but not in his hands yet and his gaze travelling from Namara to the four dwarves and back.

"Arathorn." Thorin immediately recognised the name from before. Another one of the Dúnedain then. It was hard to discern the tone of Namara's voice. She sounded both slightly relieved and tense, as if she didn't know what her husband would do when faced with such a situation. "Please. They are my guests. And they were just about to leave."

"And what were they doing here in the first place?" Arathorn obviously seemed less than happy about the new arrivals in the camp. Thorin heard a quiet growl from Dwalin and a soft hiss from Lís and he could feel his own anger rising as well. The man spoke as if they were children or not even there, completely ignoring them. Namara opened her mouth to reply, but Thorin stepped forward before she could say a word.

"A few of our companions were swept away by the river earlier today and you wife came upon one of them. She rescued my father and has given assistance in his healing; we extended our thanks and have now come to take him back to our own camp."

Arathorn eyed Thorin, his companions and the still unconscious dwarf next to them as if simply gazing at them for long enough could reveal whether they had spoken the truth or not. His eyes lingered on the raven crest, sign of the royal line of Durin, that was adoring several of Thráin's and Thorin's clothes and Thorin's weapons. The ranger frowned.

"You are from Erebor."

There was a sharp intake of breath next to him and Thorin knew that Dwalin was poised to attack any moment now should the ranger make any unfortunate statements about greed and the dragon levelling their home to the ground being 'justice for a king's madness'.

"We heard what happened to your home. Our sympathies to you and your folk."

Thorin was taken aback by the directness of the man, something he had always valued, especially in the circles of the royal court at Erebor where not everyone was so given to direct words.

"If you have such sympathy, then where were you when we would have needed it?" Dwalin had seemingly lost patience and despite the angry glance that Thorin was sending him, he kept on talking. "If you knew, why didn't you help? I heard the Dúnedain kept the North safe, yet we did not see one of them, nor did the others of our folk. We were dying and neither you nor anybody else did _anything_."

"Dwalin-" Thorin knew well that it wasn't so much anger at Arathorn that was speaking, but the long-simmering frustration against all that had left them to their own devices those days. He wasn't the only one who hadn't forgotten the dead besides the road to the Iron Hills.

"Dwalin is right." Lís stepped up next to Dwalin, eyeing the man in front of her with a cold gaze. "How can you claim sympathy if you did nothing for those that died on the road, freezing or starving to death? We lost as many on the road and during our flight from the mountain than by the dragon's attack itself."

Arathorn's brow darkened, clearly not having expected such an answer.

"Apologies, I did not know." His apology sounded sincere, but Thorin could see that neither Dwalin nor Lís were satisfied and he could feel his own anger lie heavy within his chest. Maybe he had been willing to swallow apologies and excuses for the sake of diplomacy and survival for far too long.

Namara had come around now to face the dwarves again, standing not far away from her husband.

"There were few of us in the lands around Erebor at the time." she explained. "They could have done little to help and we thought that your own people from the Iron Hills or perhaps even the elves might have aided you."

" _Elves_." Thorin spat out the word as if it were a curse and in a way it was. "Do not speak to me of elves and their _help_. They turned from us in the hour of need, never to return and not caring what would become of us."

His statement seemed to surprise them for both were quiet for a moment.

"You said your plans were to travel further southwest?" Namara changed the topic, trying to steer their conversation away from dangerous areas.

"Yes." Thorin unwillingly admitted once again, understanding well that she had asked the question only for her husband's sake. She herself already knew where their journey would lead them.

"Then we can do now what our kin did not do then - provide you with guidance and shelter."

Arathorn wasn't the only one who looked at his wife in open surprise.

"Namara, we can't-"

"We can and we will. Argonui fares safely with his aunts and grandparents and it had been our plan to go south for a while anyway; we could as well help the dwarrows navigate this land and share with them our knowledge about secret shelters, river beds and good hunting grounds whilst we do so. The lands around the Southern Edge of Mirkwood are dangerous and I would not see any more of them die if it was in my powers to prevent it."

An expression flittered over Arathorn's face that almost made Thorin smile; it reminded him of his own father when he knew that his wife had come to a decision and would not be swayed, no matter which argument he made. Sigvór had not been of the Line of Durin directly, but her stubbornness could have rivalled that of her son and husband any day. Obviously a thick head wasn't only a feature of dwarves.

Arathorn sighed.

"If you say so." With a look at Thorin and his companions he added: "And if it is their will, too."

"It isn't my decision to make." Thorin replied carefully. "I'm not the leader of the group."

He didn't add that neither his father nor grandfather would likely appreciate the company, not even if it was only for a week or two and might bring them much good.

"Maybe you should go ahead with your father." Lís suggested. "You can ask the others' opinion and we will return with you if they agree."

Thorin nodded at her words; it seemed a wise path to take. With a look at Dwalin that bid him help him he kneeled down to take his father onto his back, much to the astonishment of both Namara and Arathorn that he was able to carry such weight alone.

"Follow me, but stay behind before we reach the camp." he ordered the others and set upon the path back, not waiting to see whether they were behind him. His head was swirling with opinions and facts, unable to decide what would be the right path. He clasped his father's legs a little more tightly and prayed that the others would know better than him what to do.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance, the next chapter might take a while longer - I usually try and keep a monthly rhythm with my long stories (this one few days later because my Beta was having exams and I'm so proud of her for doing so well in them <3 ), but I'll be away for a bit next month and have an awful lot of other things to write before that (and then I'll be busy crying over getting my cosplay done in time for HobbitCon and not dying during my research). I will give my very best though! =D


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks! I hope a few of you are still there and reading here, as I foresaw, this chapter took a little bit longer (Hobbitcon was a blast tho! If you're there next year and reading this, come say hi :D). This chapter has a lot of Durin feels, as always. Enjoy!

During their journey back to the dwarves' camp Dwalin carefully moved up to walk next to Thorin - not only to keep him company and protect him from whatever might have been lurking in the forest, but also to make sure that his friend wouldn't get lost again. He would have never suggested with a single word that this was what he was doing, but Thorin was likely aware of it anyway, judging from the frown on his forehead. His friend didn't speak out, however, letting Dwalin fall into step with him quietly. It was hard for Dwalin to find the right words to begin talking to Thorin but he wanted to discuss the issue of the rangers privately with him before they arrived at the camp. In the end he just decided to charge ahead with the words inside his mind, throwing them at Thorin almost out of nowhere as they were walking through the forest.

"How do we know we can trust the rangers?" he asked him and subtly steered Thorin more to his right, knowing that they would have been going the wrong way otherwise.

"We don't." Thorin answered after a moment and trudged on stubbornly, his arms in a steady grip around his father's legs. Dwalin didn't offer him any help with carrying Thráin although he knew that the dwarf had to be heavy. Thorin's pride would not allow him to accept any help and he only remembered all too well how he had clung to his brother earlier the same day, driven by the same determination that he would see him safely back to their camp.

"And yet you accepted their offer of having them travel with us?" Dwalin tried not to make it sound too much like an accusation which he knew Thorin would react to by automatically deflecting it.

"I did." Thorin walked on a little faster after his reply and Dwalin was almost convinced that this was the only answer he was going to get when Thorin spoke again, this time much more quietly. "We need their help, Dwalin. After what happened today...we can be lucky all of our company are still alive. They know the way. They know where to find the best game. I will see no more of our group hurt or starving due to our own ignorance."

The pain in his voice took Dwalin aback and he didn't even need to look at Thorin to be able to see the lines dug deeply into his face as he frowned. He knew how much it still cost his friend to admit that they needed help, even after taking work in the villages of men more than once - dwarven pride was not a thing easily subdued and although Thorin might have seen reason more easily than his father, his head was still as hard as a rock and his honour a thing of iron that he kept close and wrapped around his body.

"You are right." Dwalin was unable to offer much more than that, but his simple reassurance softened the lines on Thorin's face slightly. "Although I wonder how we will explain it to the others."

"We will have to make them see." Thorin's voice was hard and relentless. "But we cannot simply continue as we have until now."

Dwalin nodded, reaching out to quickly squeeze his friend's arm. Thorin looked over to him and a slight grateful smile crossed his lips. The rest of the way they remained quiet, only Thorin's heavy breathing under his father's weight filling the air.

As Thorin had told them to, Namara and Arathorn were trailing at a considerable distance behind them, accompanied by Lís who knew the way back to their camp just as well as Dwalin did. From time to time the wind would carry over pieces of a conversation between Namara and her husband although Lís seemed to be remaining quiet. Dwalin realised with a slight pang of regret in his heart that he had never known Lís as well as he should have, even though she was his uncle's wife and thus, his aunt.

She had always been the more quiet one, even at family meetings, and although she drank her fair share of alcohol she preferred to remain silent and watch instead of starting a conversation herself. It was clear, however, that Gróin was fiercely in love with his wife and she with him. Their love was a less obvious, more quiet one than, for example, that of his own parents, shared mostly in quiet touches and small glances at each other, but no less intense for that matter. Her craft was in the adorning of leather and fabrics with patterns or shapes, although she often worked at her husband's side in organising matters, especially after the dragon had come. She had taken charge of food distribution and other issues in the Iron Hills, her talent for such things obvious. By now, she was indispensable to their travelling group, just as the rest of them were. Dwalin hoped that Lís would be able to hold her place amongst the others and keep the respect all of them had found for her.

The way back to the camp took them longer than Dwalin had expected since Thorin had to walk more slowly with his father's weight on his back. Still, they reached the camp before nightfall where everyone had been eagerly awaiting their return.

Everyone sprang up from their seats as soon as they arrived, starting to bombard Thorin with questions about his father's state. Even Thrór seemed to be different, more animated and seemingly relieved at his son's and grandson's return. Thorin finally permitted Frerin, Varna and Dwalin to take Thráin's weight off his shoulders and gently put him down on one of the bedrolls that they had additionally softened with some furs already. He didn't reply to their questioning at first, pulling Dís into an embrace and getting out his water bottle instead and taking deep gulps from it.

Varna frowned when she looked around, noticing that someone of their group was still missing.

"Where's Lís?"

Dwalin glanced over at Thorin who was still drinking from his flask and rolled his eyes at his friend's obvious stalling for time, forcing Dwalin to answer the question instead.

"She stayed behind and should be here in a moment." At his mother's questioning glance he just shrugged his shoulders, unwilling to reveal any more yet. Despite his unwillingness, Thorin would be able to do so much better than him. Every one of their little group had come close to them now, waiting for their prince to tell them what had happened. Thorin sighed quietly and ran his hand through his hair, putting his water bottle away before he finally started talking.

"My father was swept down the river and injured greatly so that he fell unconscious. A ranger found him and cared for him; without her help he might not have been alive anymore when I found them. The ranger and her husband have offered to keep us company a while more and guide as through the dangerous wilds ahead. Lís has remained behind with them until we have reached a decision on whether to accept their help or not."

Silence followed his words as understanding trickled into the other dwarves' minds and Dwalin saw a multitude of emotions reflected on them, ranging from denial that someone else had saved their crown prince via anger to relief.

"No." The flat voice answering Thorin was Thrór's. He had moved from his son's side to face Thorin squarely, standing tall and erect and for a moment it seemed like the old King Under the Mountain had returned to part of his former glory. "Our line hasn't sunken so low yet that we have to accept help from stragglers and _men_."

Dwalin could feel Thorin's short temper fraying even more and knew how dangerously close to the surface his anger was bubbling. Only the fact this it was his king and grandfather that he was talking to kept Thorin from shouting.

"They have saved your son's life, _sigin'adad_. They would show us hunting grounds and safe paths; and their honour cannot be disputed since they are of royal blood themselves."

"Royal blood?" Thrór snorted and Dwalin felt a pang of sadness race through him. The haughty arrogance visible in his face was so unlike the King Thrór they had known as children who had carried them around on his shoulders and mock wrestled with them until they had all been breathless with laughter. "As if the northern line of the kings of old would still hold any significance."

"If you measure them by what they have and not by what they do then by all rights, you should condemn your own line as well." Thorin sounded both tired and angry as he muttered the words that had been on everybody's mind although most of them had been too scared to say them.

A spark of pure, undiluted anger flared up in Thrór's eyes as he took a step forwards. Thorin didn't step back and Dwalin shuffled closer to him, making sure that Thorin could feel the warmth of his own presence at his back, supporting him. It looked like Thrór was close to raising his hand against his grandson like Thráin had done over a similar argument before - suddenly, however, as he cast a glance around to the bedraggled looking members of their group and his own son unconscious on the ground, he seemed to deflate and the spark in his eyes winked out again.

"Maybe that is all that we are then." he said quietly. "Yet another line of kings that will soon be forgotten and end in nothing but dust and dirt."

A gasp ran through the other dwarves and Dwalin felt something inside him grow cold at the despair in their king's eyes. It was Thorin who stepped towards Thrór and pulled his grandfather's forehead down until it was resting against his own in a display of affection that Dwalin hadn't seen between the two for a long time and never so openly. The life on the road had changed all of them, had forced them to give up some of the secrecy many of the families had always valued so much - yet, to see one of the royal family being so open in his fondness was still rare if it wasn't amongst the youngest siblings.

"Our line will endure." Thorin told his grandfather softly. "We are alive and still strong and will do everything it takes to make us survive."

Thrór rumbled something in Khuzdul that was too quiet for Dwalin to understand from where he was standing but he could see Thorin smile in response and pull his grandfather into a close embrace. He knew that the hope that Thrór would remain as such and not fall back into his brooding state brought on by the snares of dragon sickness was a pointless one; but it did him and all the dwarves good to see their king and his grandson united like this again.

Thorin gave Dwalin a small nod and he knew that it was time for him to fetch Lís and the ranger so they might introduce themselves to their company. The three of them had been waiting not far from their camp, just as Thorin had advised them to, and it delighted Dwalin to see that Lís seemed to have lost some of her original apprehension towards the presence of the two Dúnedain. If not chatting animatedly she was still standing close to them, still alert to what might be going on around them but a lot more relaxed than before.

"Have you decided then?" Namara asked and Dwalin nodded, signalling them with a gesture to follow him. Namara and her husband exchanged a glance and started following him. Lís fell in step next to Dwalin although she still remained quiet; yet he could feel calmness and approval radiating from her.

The dwarves had been chatting amongst themselves, but as soon as they entered the camp, everyone fell quiet and turned into the direction of the newcomers. Óin was the first to break the silence, making his way from his father's side who was still supported on his weak legs by Hulda towards his mother.

" _Amad_!" he shrieked and a smile suddenly blossomed on Lís face as she picked up her son in her arms and whirled him around before settling him on her hip and moving swiftly to her husband's side.

The momentary tension between the two races was broken at such a display of family love and Dwalin could see a smile on Namara's lips as she grabbed her husband's hand and squeezed it slightly, doubtlessly thinking of some children of her own. Dís and Frerin had used the opportunity to move up to their brother and ask Thorin about their father's condition, a question that Thorin wasted no time in delegating to Namara in an obvious effort to establish some familiarity within the group. He also used the opportunity to introduce the two rangers to the rest of them, remembering both Namara's and Arathorn's titles with an ease that would never stop surprising Dwalin. Thorin might not have much of a sense of direction but his memory for names and events more than made up for it.

Namara immediately settled on checking on Thráin again, moving on to Gróin after Lís asked her to and finally to Balin after Dwalin had been able to convince their parents that the ranger woman would do his brother no harm. She confirmed their initial suspicion of a concussion and the feeling of relief amongst the group was palpable when she announced that all three of the injured dwarves, even Thráin would hopefully recover fully from their ordeal in time. Óin had been listening to her with large eyes, soaking up every single one of her words and gestures when she was examining the dwarrows and Dwalin guessed that it wouldn't take long for him until his tongues was loosened and Namara would see herself faced with a dozen questions.

Arathorn remained more reserved than his wife, marking out a small spot at the edge of the dwarves' camp as their own and proceeding to spread their bedrolls and some supplies on the ground. There was still a certain wariness in his movements as he began to sharpen one of his knives and most of the dwarrows stayed clear of him until Dís and Frerin started to approach him to ask him about all the weapons he was carrying with him, a story that he shared first hesitantly, then with growing enthusiasm. When Dwalin was satisfied that everything seemed to be in order and no immediate quarrels over the presence of the rangers would break out he moved to his own family's side to keep watch over his brother who was currently still sleeping.

Maybe their journey would work out after all.

*

Thráin awoke to pain. Both his arm and his foot hurt fiercely and he could feel a stab in his chest every time he tried to take a breath. Annoyance at the weakness of his own body flowed through him and he growled as he opened his eyes and simultaneously tried to push himself up on his arms.

" _Adad_ , no, ssshh, lie down, Namara said you shouldn't move too much." Careful hands pressed on his chest above the stinging ache to keep him lying down and with a grunt Thráin relented, especially when he finally recognised the voice as that of Frerin.

The world around him was blurry and far too bright when he tried to open his eyes once more but he stubbornly endured, waited until the brightness was finally dimming down as his eyes adapted to their surroundings once more. His son's face slowly solidified, the worry in his expression palpable. Thráin tried to remember what happened but failed - his memories seemed to stop the moment the earth had crumbled underneath him and sent him plummeting towards the river. Gróin had been next to him and-

"Thorin!" He ignored the pain in his body at the movement when he tried to grab Frerin's hand to get his attention. "Where is he? Is he alright? And Balin and Gróin-"

"They're fine, _adad_." Frerin's hand closed around his and their warmth let Thráin relax again. The thought of losing his son or any other of their group was unbearable. "Thorin and Dwalin have gone hunting and Balin has a concussion, but both he and Gróin will be alright."

"What happened?" Thráin's voice was raspy and low and without him asking for it, Frerin brought a water flask at his lips and helped him to drink some of the water inside.

"The riverbank gave way and you, Balin and Gróin fell into the river. We're lucky that all three of you are still alive, although we should probably stay here for a few weeks until you can at least ride again on one of the ponies. If Namara hadn't found you-"

Thráin frowned. There it was again, that foreign name he didn't think he'd heard before.

"Namara?" he asked his son.

Frerin shifted slightly under his gaze before he answered.

"One of the Dúnedain. She saved you and treated your wounds." Thráin knew that there was more to his son's words than they would let him to believe. However, the thought alone of someone else than a dwarf touching and treating his wounds made him recoil internally and had he been any stronger he would have ripped off the bandages and splinters meant to keep his limbs still to see the damage she had wrought. As it was, he seemed to be too weak to do anything but bundle his emotions into a disapproving snort that called a brief frown on Frerin's face.

"She saved your life, father. And the help she and her husband offered has been invaluable-"

"Their _help_?" Thráin cursed. How long had he been unconscious? And what had happened during the time he had not been awake?

"Yes." Frerin seemed more and more uncomfortable under his gaze. "They offered to accompany us for the next part of the journey since they know the area well and Thorin and Thrór both agreed."

For a moment, Thráin was left speechless. Then he felt seething anger come over him at the thought of his son and father accepting help from people not even of their own folk and without consulting him first. He was about to open his mouth and shout at his second son when he heard heavy boots approaching and Thorin's face came into his view, hair still straggly and wild from his hunting trip.

"Father." he said softly, the worry in his eyes clear as they travelled over Thráin's form and took in the pain undoubtedly showing in the lines of his face. However, his obvious concern did nothing to soothe Thráin's anger.

"How low would you have us fall, son? First labouring in the villages of men and now _this_? Do your line and your heritage mean so little to you?"

A spark flared up in Thorin's eyes at his father's words, the same seething anger that Thráin knew was flowing inside himself and that only Sigvór had truly been able to curb.

"If 'little' means 'survival' to you then yes, I suppose it does." Thorin threw back at him, his voice getting louder. "And if having them accompany us means to avert more misery and tragedy and death from our group, then I am more than willing to take this responsibility upon myself!"

With those last words Thorin walked away, leaving Thráin and Frerin to themselves. Frerin's glance darted back and forth between his brother and father and for a moment Thráin felt sorry that he had been caught up in such an argument between his family. Thorin did not return to his side during the evening and neither seemed anyone else inclined to discuss the matter of the rangers, not even Thrór who showed himself more than relieved when he was told that Thráin had finally woken up.

Thráin knew that the big argument between him and Thorin would come sooner or later and he both hoped for and dreaded the moment, knowing that he might either reconcile with or lose his son forever.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Whoop whoop! This one's more of a filler chapter really, but I needed to push that journey forward a little. Anyway, have some more hair braiding and a little action. Enjoy!

The initial suspicion against the rangers didn't quite pass over the next few days. Naturally, some of their group remained more wary than others - Gróin, Fundin, Varna, Nár, Thrór and Thráin were the most reserved, whilst the younger ones, especially the dwarflings quickly lost all shyness towards their guests. Namara seemed more willing to converse with them than Arathorn was, but despite his gruffness he never consciously gave insult to any of them.

The tension between Thráin and Thorin, however, kept simmering- and for much longer than Frerin would have thought possible. He always felt strangely uncomfortable when he was in the presence of both at the same time now, as if being caught in a war between two different parties. Frerin knew that his brother was right, that having the two rangers with them would help them survive and better feed themselves - however, he understood where his father was coming from as well, maybe better than Thorin himself. He had been groomed as future king of a vast and wealthy kingdom from the moment of his birth on and it had been ingrained in his head to always think of his people. The attack of the dragon and following hardships had slowly, but surely chipped away at his pride. As the crown prince Thráin, however, had as much pride in their people than he was aware of their needs - and in his case the former had only been amplified by their journey in contrast to his son.

Frerin had always shared that pride, the stories of the greatness of Durin's Line and Mahal's children instilled in his head from the earliest age. Unlike his older brother, however, he didn't see those stories as challenge and pressure to do at least as good as his ancestors, if not better; for him they had always served as an example and encouragement of what their people were capable of. He wished there was a way for him to mediate between his brother and father, although he didn't know how to. For now it was left to him and most of the other dwarves to help care for his father since every attempt of Thorin's seemed to end with both of their moods plummeting so rapidly that bringing distance between them seemed the only safe route for all involved.

He hoped that Namara and Arathorn wouldn't take Thráin's quiet animosity or the barbed comments he sometimes flung around too personally although he could feel their distaste for them. Mostly they ignored what was being said and many dwarves, mostly the younger ones, had picked up on when it was best to distract their new guides with questions and stories. Óin especially seemed to have taken a liking to Namara and after a few days of hesitation Lís did not seem to mind her son tagging along with the ranger and learning from her all she could tell him about healing. She was slightly wary to share her knowledge with outsiders, but the dwarfling's relentless asking and seemingly boundless enthusiasm won her over quickly enough. More and more often the two could be seen sitting together, just like this evening.

Frerin cast a quick glance around their little group that had by now become like a second family to him. They had been travelling again since a few days, although they'd had to redistribute the weight of two of the ponies' packs so that Thráin and Balin could ride on their backs, being yet unable to walk long distances without delaying the group. Nonetheless, they'd had made good progress that day and even had some time for hunting in the evening that had rewarded them with enough game to be able to feed all of them that night.

Now the sun was slowly setting and they were all moving a little closer to the large fire they had built earlier for cooking. Thráin was sleeping, the days still proving exhausting for him thanks to his injuries. Thrór and Nár were sitting next to him, involved in a quiet talk that nobody else could hear. Thorin and Dís were sitting to Frerin's other side, Dís happily in their middle and her back turned to Thorin as he carefully combed out and braided her hair, quietly humming an old song under his breath. Dwalin sat next to Thorin and had set himself the task of cleaning and sharpening their weapons. Fundin and Varna had been on washing up duty that night and had just returned from the small river running nearby, now busy packing all their pots, bowls and spoons away. Balin was dozing next to his brother, his concussion still making it difficult for him to stay focused for long amounts of time.

Gróin was the one who had recovered best from their life-threatening adventure in the river. He and Lís were sitting close enough to Namara to keep an eye on their son, but far enough away to have some privacy to themselves. Their shoulders touching, they sat bent over some of their gear that they were repairing. They weren't the only ones - Arathorn seemed to be mending a pair of boots and Hulda was showing Dori how to repair some of their travel worn clothing.

All in all it was a peaceful picture and one that filled Frerin with gladness to see. He had always hated quarrelling, had hid away when he was younger and his parents argued amongst themselves or with Thorin. Loud shouting during talks tended to irritate him more than anything and more than once he had just wanted to press his hands on his ears and shout for everyone to be quiet.

It was getting too dark by now for Namara and Óin to continue their lesson about whatever plants the ranger had been teaching the young dwarf about this evening. Óin seemed to eye her critically as she carefully put her samples away and suddenly he sprang to his feet when apparently caught his sight.

"You need more braids in your hair." he told her earnestly.

Immediately all the talk around them quieted at his words. Even Arathorn looked up at the sudden silence. Frerin wasn't sure just how much the two rangers knew about the conventions and meaning behind dwarven hair braiding - for that matter, he also wasn't sure whether Óin was being fully aware of what he was saying.

"Óin..." Lís said the word gently, but her insecurity in face of the situation was palpable.

"But _amad_ , she needs braids. Look at how her hair is all coming loose and being in the way." Nobody was truly able to dispute that fact - one of the numerous reasons behind dwarven braids apart from courting, family, profession, appearance and so on was the simple practicality of it. Braids kept most of the hair out of the way when the dwarrows were practising their craft, an advantage that wasn't to be underestimated, especially in the forges or where fire was involved.

"Maybe you can show me how to do some basic ones to keep the hair out of the way and I will do them myself from then on?" Namara offered gently, obviously having picked up on the tension in the air. Some of the dwarves shifted at her words and Frerin noted how Thorin seemed far _too_ intent on braiding their sister's hair, his ears no doubt trained towards the conversation happening on the other end of the camp fire. He was suddenly absurdly grateful that their father was already sleeping and that Thrór seemed to be too focused on the past once again to register too much of what was going on around him.

Óin looked over to his parents for their approval and Lís cast a glance over the dwarves sitting around the fire. What she saw there seemingly seemed to give her hope since she nodded to her son.

"Go on." she told him and Frerin hoped she had made the right decision.

Óin immediately set to work, a frown appearing on his forehead in concentration as he stood up and weaved his fingers through Namara's hair after she had taken off the band holding it together. The braids he gave her were indeed simple, but did a good job of keeping the hair out of her face - and, Frerin noted with some relief, they were only the simple braids as everyone would wear whilst working, none of the patterns associated with anything specific meaning that they were carrying in their their own culture.

The dwarves slowly relaxed again as Óin was working on the braids, glad that another situation that could easily have led to more arguments had been avoided. It almost felt like the ranger and dwarves had passed some sort of unseen test, taking their relationship to a different level. Thorin began humming again and Hulda told her son once more about the best ways to mend certain items of clothing. Once Óin was finished, Namara carefully ran her fingers over the braids now adorning the side of her head and being interweaved with other strand of her hair to firmly hold them together, smiling when she felt them.

"Thank you." she told Óin sincerely. "You'll have to show me how to do them properly, so I can put them in myself once we leave."

"You're leaving?" The young dwarrow sounded more than distraught at the prospect of losing his new friend.

"Not now." Namara smiled, trying to soothe the young one's worry. "We will stay with you for a while yet. We'll only leave once we know you have crossed these lands safely."

"Ah..." Óin still seemed to be saddened by the prospect of having to say goodbye to her at some point. "You'll need to teach me more until then!"

The smile on Namara's face widened at his words.

"Of course I will. You'll have to as well - I have the feeling that there is much we can learn from each other." The last part of the statement was clearly not only directed at Óin, but also at the rest of the dwarves who met her words with varying degrees of acceptance and shuffling.

After that, the night slowly drew to a close - during their travels they had all gotten used to retreating to their bed rolls relatively soon after darkness had fallen and getting up at first light to be on their way. Namara and Arathorn had evidently been impressed by the speed and effectiveness their group displayed, being ready to travel long before the sun was high in the sky every morning. As much as everyone else, Frerin had taken a certain amount of pride in it, just as he did every time that the rangers had to acknowledge that some of the stereotypical beliefs they held about dwarves were simply wrong - just as many of the dwarves were forced to overhaul some of the ideas about rangers and the folk of men that they had long held on to in their heads throughout the course of their journey.

After they had been travelling for a few weeks even Thráin was forced to admit that the rangers were indeed of help to them. They had been more than one situation where their experience and knowledge of the terrain had kept them from entering a dangerous path and having another catastrophe happen like at the river. Hunting was easier now that they had two more hands to help with the tasks of the camp and the rangers knew the spots where game was usually plentiful, both Namara and her husband being experienced hunters. The dwarves, in turn, had plenty to teach them about how to mend clothes, items and weapons and travel with a large group and their knowledge was received more and more gladly as time went on.

Their travels remained peaceful and undisturbed until they reached the lands around the southern edges of Mirkwood. They could see the forest itself looming in the distance and not only Frerin's heart darkened when he looked at the trees, remembering all too well the elves who dwelled in there and who had forsaken the dwarves as the dragon had attacked. Namara and Arathorn must have heard what had transpired between them and the king of the woodland realm, although they didn't lose a single word about it. Instead of through it they led the group around the forest in a far enough distance so that they would catch neither the attention of the elves nor of the foul creatures that were said to live inside parts of the forest now.

Arathorn warned them of rogue groups of orcs that sometimes travelled this far east and would attack anybody they found within moments. After a short talk, Fundin and Dwalin decided to bring up the rear whilst Namara was scouting on ahead. It was a pattern they kept up for the next days of travel, too, and soon it turned out that they had been right to do so. It was Namara who warned them first, that she had seen rather fresh looking tracks of wargs who had to have come through not too long ago. Only moments later Fundin and Dwalin let loose a warning shout and the small group of dwarves lost no time in organising a quick defence. They were much better organised than the last time when they had been attacked by the robbers, and quickly enough everyone who was able to fight formed a protective ring around the still injured Thráin, their ponies and the youngest dwarflings.

Frerin gripped his sword tightly, only remembering all too well the last time they had fought and that he had killed. He knew he would never forget the dead man's face as long as he lived and it continued to haunt him in his dreams from time to time. Every time he thought of him he wondered about the kind of life he had lived, whether he'd had family and what they would be doing now. For a moment the same thought almost distracted him now - what about the orcs? Did they have families? Goals in life beyond killing and destroying?

His thoughts were cut short by the too-close growl of wargs and he flinched slightly when he caught sight of the creatures. It was the first time he had truly ever seen one that was alive and they seemed impossibly large to him, with far too many sharp teeth and eyes that spoke of a certain intelligence and wild will to kill. Dwalin was to his one side, Hulda to the other and Frerin could feel the steady warmth emanating from them and helping to calm him down a little.

"Steady, lad." Hulda briefly patted his shoulder before she gripped her weapon more tightly and Frerin shot a thankful smile at her.

A sudden yowl made him look to his right and he saw one of the wargs go down with an arrow in his eye, the next one already on Arathorn's bow and quickly landing in its riders head. As if on cue, the other wargs of which there were about seven or eight, all lurched forward at the same time to prey on the dwarves. Frerin threw himself sideways with a shout to escape the snapping jaws of the warg closest to him and relied on Hulda on his other side to distract the rider on top of his animal for long enough that he could use his sword to kill him. He could hear Hulda giving a cry as well that was answered by a shrill scream form the orc, at the same moment that Frerin recovered his balance and hacked at the warg's neck.

He didn't quite manage to kill the creature - the warg's fur was thick and there was too much muscle in its neck to be completely severed with a cut from the less-than-ideal angle that Frerin was coming from. The warg gave a roar at the sudden pain in its neck and whipped around towards him, making him stumble backwards and pray the movement wouldn't make him fall onto someone else's weapon. Hulda was still busy with the orc on the warg's back so that Frerin was on his own faced with the beast. He screamed as the warg's claws ripped open his upper arm, but still managed to get up his sword in time and place a slash across its sensitive nose.

The warg yowled and hopped backwards a little, Frerin coming after it with a shout, stepping sideways and cutting across its throat from below. The resulting shower of blood drenched the clothes on his sword arm and he stared at it wide-eyed for a moment as it sunk into his mind that he had just killed a warg on his own.

"Frerin!" Dwalin's shout next to him ripped him out of his momentary stupor and he whirled around, just in time to bring up his sword again and counter a blow from one orc that seemed to be without a warg now. The orc snarled as he advanced on him, blows raining down on Frerin with increased strength as he tried to resist the assault. The deep wounds from the warg's claws across his upper arm were burning by now, sending lines of fire through his entire body and making it harder and harder for him to think and lift his weapon each time anew.

There was nobody around who could help - all the other dwarves were deeply engrossed in their fighting, Hulda having turned around to Nár and helping him with another warg, and both pride and sheer shortness of breath kept him from calling for help. It was only bit by bit, but slowly he was forced backwards and it was only a question of time until he would break down under the orc's vicious assault. Frerin tried and put all his strength into one last, desperate slash at his enemy's chest, but he didn't have enough strength left for a speedy move as well, leaving the orc time enough to jump backwards and receive no more than a harmless gash instead of a deadly wound. The orc howled with anger and came at Frerin again, blade coming down with such force that Frerin's knees buckled as weakness suddenly raced through him again.

It was with strange clarity in his head that he thought that this was it, he would die. There was no time for emotions or even regret, just the crystal clear realisation that this would be the end as the orc raised his weapon again and Frerin found himself too weak to evade or stop the blade.

"No!" The roar was loud and ripped through the fighting dwarves like a knife.

Frerin blinked; where there had been an orc about to strike the killing blow in front of him only a moment ago there was now only empty space as his opponent toppled over, his head suddenly severed from his body. Frerin blinked again, trying to shake off the shock and weakness still lingering inside him and yet not quite succeeding.

"Nobody will kill my son." The familiar voice was back and a moment later there was a hand on his head and then his arm, binding the bleeding wounds the warg claws had left firmly with a strip of torn-off clothing. Frerin looked up and his eyes widened as he took in the heavily breathing dwarf who was leaning on his sword to take the weight off his injured foot.

" _Adad_." he whispered, before a strong arm pulled him in and held him close in unending relief.

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Everybody needs more dwarflings in their lives. And water battles. And Thorin and his Da finally have a heart to heart. Yay!

Balin watched as the aftermath of the small battle unfolded around him. Thráin refused to leave his son's side until it was sure that Frerin would be fine, waving off any medical attention directed at him to deal with those who had received wounds in the fight first. For a few long and precious moments there seemed little difference between the rangers and the dwarrows as they all looked after their wounded and took care of the corpses of their opponents.

Frerin was the worst off amongst them and had lost quite some blood; however, it seemed he would be fine with enough rest and care that his wounds wouldn't get infected, Namara ensured them after she had helped Lís to clean and sew up the nasty claw marks. Balin thought for a moment that Thráin would object to having the ranger treat his son, but the shock of almost having seen one of his children die in front of his eyes still sat far too deep and so he remained quiet, only putting a gentle hand on Frerin's shoulder as he squirmed under Hulda's touch when she began to sew. He even grudgingly gave Namara the permission to check the condition of his foot again, to see whether the injury had worsened from his sudden participation in the battle.

After she had decreed to everyone's satisfaction that Thráin seemed to be no more injured than he had been before and Frerin's wounds weren't so serious that they would cost him his life, relief flooded through their entire group. Dís walked up to her brother, patting his knee and obviously still worried about what had happened.

"Does it hurt much?" she asked and Balin smiled internally at her worried tone. He saw Thorin lurking close by to the rest of his family, but not yet closely enough to be unable to avoid another confrontation with his father. He sighed and only hoped that those two would resolve their differences soon. He should probably talk to him about it, tell him to mend things with his father before the atmosphere became even more strained.

"Nah, I'm fine." Frerin replied, but the wince in his face at the pain betrayed him as he lifted his little sister up so she could sit on his knees. "And you? Did you get through the fighting alright?"

"Yes!" Dís beamed, obviously not disturbed at the sight of the battle. Then she frowned. "But I could have fought! And protected you!"

"I think you're still a little young for that, aren't you my jewel?" Thráin said gently from her side. Dís threw him an angry glance."But Varna taught me and she says I'm getting better and better!"

"And she's right." Thráin replied and Balin knew it wasn't a lie. He had watched his mother train the little ones and knew that Dís delighted in her lessons and took them to heart. "But you have quite a bit to learn yet before you can join us in battle. Dori and Óin aren't fighting either, now, are they?"

"No." Dís had to concede, although she still seemed disappointed. "Do you think _amad_ would have fought with us?"

"Aye my sweet, of course she would have." Thráin had become very adept in hiding how his voice cracked slightly whenever he talked about his late wife, but Balin could still hear it and so, he was sure, could Thorin and Frerin. "She would have protected us all."

Dís seemed to think about his answer for a while before she smiled and shifted on Frerin's knee to reach around and pat both her brother's and father's head with her small hands.

"Don't worry, _nadad, adad_. Next time I'll be there to protect you."

Balin saw how Thráin smiled at his daughter's words and couldn't help but mirror his expression, Privately he hoped that it would still be a long time until Dís would truly have to take up weapons beside them, although his gut told him that it would be much earlier than any of them wanted. Balin could see Thorin smiling slightly as well although there was a tinge of sadness in his eyes, his thoughts no doubt walking similar paths as Balin's own. He quietly drew him aside as they were slowly getting ready to continue their travels for a while longer before settling down for the evening. None of them wanted to make camp so close to where blood had been spilled. It was thought to be bad luck.

"Thorin." he said quietly, putting a hand on his shoulder. Thorin turned around to him at the gesture, surprise shimmering in his eyes as he saw Balin's serious expression.

"Balin. What is it? Everything alright with you and Dwalin?"

Balin smiled internally when he heard how quickly Thorin was worried about his brother's well-being. It was no secret the two of them had practically been inseparable since they had been toddling through the mountain after him on their unsteady little feet. Even then he'd often been responsible for looking after them, both older brother and voice of reason in one.

"Yes, everything's fine." he assured him and saw the relief spread on Thorin's face. "You should talk to your father, Thorin."

Thorin's expression darkened slightly but Balin refused to feel guilty about it. Such advice could have only come from him - Thorin would not have taken it as seriously had it come from any of their elders. Balin was in the unique position of being both friend and someone whose advice and critique Thorin would honestly consider. Thorin opened his mouth and Balin could hear his barely-veiled refusal before he even spoke it.

"No, Thorin, hear me out. The rift between the two of you is obvious and it's starting to affect the others, too. I'm sure you've seen it for yourself. Your siblings are starting to be divided in their loyalty between you and their father and the tension between the two of you has spoilt more than one conversation. I'm not saying that either of you has to admit to being wrong, but you two should at least talk about it and acknowledge your differences. We need our group to stay together especially in those rough times."

Anger clouded Thorin's eyes before he visibly pulled himself together.

"I know you're right, Balin. But some of the things my father has said...I cannot see how we could ever reconcile his views and mine. It's like we are on two different sides of the same mountain."

Balin groaned internally. Stone-headed line of Durin, indeed.

"That's because the two of you are more stubborn than an entire herd of Dáin's pigs taken together. However, this is exactly what a king should do - hear others’ points of view and discuss them. You and your father would both be wise to remember that."

He simply stalked off after those last words, leaving Thorin to simmer in his anger and, hopefully, to contemplate what he had just told him and actually see the merit behind it. Balin saw how Dwalin threw him a strange gaze and walked over towards Thorin after Balin had left him alone. He could only hope that his younger brother would agree with him although Dwalin had more than once done the opposite just based on the strange principles that seemed to operate between every group of siblings. As if by coincidence he led one of the ponies closer to them in his efforts to fasten the buckles around the saddle packs, until he was close enough to overhear their conversation that wasn’t very quiet to begin with.

“…but I can’t do it.” he heard Thorin saying, one of his hands playing with the buckle of his belt. Balin looked up briefly from his own task to see that Dwalin was frowning at his best friend.

“You know, I think my brother is right.” Dwalin said suddenly and Balin’s eyebrows went up. Now _there_ was a surprise. If he could only get his brother to admit so more often and more openly…”I can see how nobody’s happy with the situation, especially Frerin and Dís. No matter how it ends, it’d probably be much easier to simply have it out instead of dragging it around with you all the time.”

“Is this some sort of family conspiracy between you and your brother?” Thorin sounded amused and Balin could only imagine the little spark lighting up in his eyes at the question. “Next thing I know your Ma and Da will start pestering me too.”

“You don’t expect me to see something this obvious myself?” Dwalin retorted and Balin had to suppress a laugh. “I might not be as scholarly as my brother, Thorin, but I do have eyes and a mind to go with it. Talk to your father. You’ll be happy you did once you’re done, trust me. And the rest of your family too, hopefully.”

Thorin grunted a response that Balin was too far away to understand properly, but Dwalin laughed out loud and punched his friend in the ribs. Thorin chuckled and evidently through a punch back since Dwalin gave a quiet shout in protest. It probably would have ended with the two of them scuffling on the ground again if Fundin hadn’t called out to them that it was time to move on and that they could roll in the dirt all they wanted if they only postponed it to a later date. Balin just shook his head at their shenanigans before he checked the straps one more time and gave his pony a pat on the neck.

In almost the same formation as before they continued on their way - Frerin had insisted that he would be able to walk if they weren’t going too far and the others had grudgingly relented since none of them were too keen on redistributing the load of yet another pony’s saddle packs. Namara told them that she had travelled on almost the exact route once before and knew a good space to make camp not too far ahead. There was quick agreement amongst them that this was where they would rest for the night and so they set out once more.

Namara had been right; the space she led them to was indeed ideal for spending the night, even for a larger group such as they were. The place was a spacious clearing surrounded by rocky outcrops on a few sides that would offer protection against any potential ambushes and the small river they had been following wasn’t too far away. Balin sighed in relief when they finally arrived - although the day hadn’t been too long, the fight had been taxing for all of them and it was good to make camp whilst the sun was still so high up in the sky. That way they would even have time to hunt and for a bath in the river before dinner time. The others seemed to harbour similar thoughts for Balin had rarely seen them divide the tasks between them as fast as they did now, everyone apparently keen to be done so they could finally jump into the cleaning waters of the stream.

It wasn’t long until they had all finished their respective tasks and the sounds of gleeful shouting from the river filled the air. Arathorn had offered to stay out of the water and take over the watch in case there would be any more stray orc packs roaming around, but the rest of them had ignored the cold and immediately waded out into the freezing water. Now Frerin, still wary of his injured arm, was sitting on Thorin’s shoulders and wrestling his little sister, who sat on Dwalin’s. Balin grinned when he looked at them, trying not to make any movements too hasty himself - sometimes, when he moved too rashly, he still felt dizzy, no doubt an after effect from the concussion he had suffered. Somehow it was strange to think that the same water which was so pleasant now had almost cost him his life.

Namara seemed a little taken aback by how quickly most of the dwarves, even the older ones, turned towards mischief in the water. Even Thrór splashed water at his granddaughter from behind more than once, making her squeal. It didn’t take the ranger too long to join in with the general merriment, partly also brought about by the usual elation about still being alive that followed most fights. Balin found himself in a wild water battle together with his mother, Hulda and Óin against Gróin, Lís, Fundin and Dori whilst Thráin was laughing loudly at the shenanigans of his own family and even old Nár grinned behind his beard.

The few moments of uninterrupted and light-hearted fun did them all good, Balin mused. They were more relaxed than they had been in weeks when they climbed back out again and Namara observed with a smile that her son Argonui would surely have loved to been a part of it had he been here. Of course, her words prompted a whole array of question from the other young dwarves - where was her son now and why wasn’t he here? Who was looking after him? Namara explained to them with a little laugh that he was staying with other Dúnedain until his parents returned home, quite old enough to be spending time on his own and learn what it meant to be a ranger from the elders of his people. Prodded further, she revealed that her son was now fourteen years old - a fact that led to surprised exclamations by the dwarves, followed by a swift explanation that ages did indeed work differently in dwarrows and men. Everybody erupted in laughter when it turned out that Fundin was with his over hundred years almost three times as old as Namara was and yet, outwardly there seemed little difference in their ages apart from Fundin’s mighty beard.

Several of their party, including Varna, Fundin, Namara and Arathorn set out to go hunting before the evening meal. Thorin stayed and Balin half hoped, half suspected that he would follow his advice from earlier. Indeed, Thorin was approaching his father, back straight and shoulders squared in an attempt to appear as confident as possible.

“Is there a place where we could talk?” he asked Thráin quietly, obviously not wishing to attract too much attention from the other dwarves.

“Here is a good as any.” his father answered gruffly, but not unfriendly. He patted at the bare spot next to him but Thorin just quietly shook his head and remained standing, making Thráin sigh in response. “What did you want to talk about, _inùdoy_?”

The affectionate name for his son seemed to make Thorin’s task a little easier, reminding him that they were, after all, still family and that his father would listen to what he had to say.

“It’s Namara. And the situation at the village a while back. Why do you always refuse to accept help even when it is so sorely needed?” Thorin went directly to the heart of the matter and Balin approved. Dancing around the issue would have only gotten him a reprimand from his father.

“Because our pride is one of the few things still left to us.” Thráin answered quietly, but firmly. “We have always managed to survive somehow - we do not need to grovel in front of strangers to accept their help.”

“And yet, we would have all given much for Thranduil’s help when the mountain fell.” Thorin remarked and Balin winced. Bringing the conversation on the topic of the elven king and his betrayal could not have been a wise move. “Don’t tell me that you wouldn’t have done anything to save those we saw dead at the road side to the Iron Hills, father.”

Thráin nodded.

“Yes, I would have, as would have your grandfather. But that was because there was no option. Here, in the wilderness, prepared as we were…we would have found a way. Even without the help from men or lowering ourselves to do their dirty work for a pittance.”

Thorin seemed utterly aghast at his words, especially the way he condemned his son’s work in the villages of men to provide for his family.

“But father, surely you must have seen that there was no other way! How much worse would it have had to grow for you to accept that we needed the money the work gave us, however little? I’m not sure about you, but I know I wouldn’t have been able to stand Dís’ and the other’s misery for even a single day longer.”

“Don’t you think that I didn’t see her and the others suffering, too? That I would have given anything I had in order to see them safe and not hungry anymore?” There was a quiet anger in Thráin’s voice and for a moment, Thorin looked guilty before he frowned. It shouldn’t have needed such a reminder for him to know how much his father loved his family.

“If you would have given anything - then why wouldn’t you let me give all that _I_ had to offer? At least the money was earned honestly, not stolen. Or would you have turned to robbing people on the street like the band of men we fought against?”

“Of course not.” Thráin’s voice was icy. “But there would have been other ways, I’m sure.”

“But there weren’t.” Thorin sounded almost exasperated by now. “And after I had seen what had happened to you, that you almost _died_ in that flooded river, I was more than inclined to accept the help of Namara and her husband as well. Don’t you see, father? I only want to keep further harm away from our family, from our _people_.”

“I know, Thorin. And I apologise for having been so harsh to you before.” Thráin said gently. “However, I will still never be able to approve of what you have done.”

“And I won’t stop.” Thorin insisted and Balin sighed. Those two were prime examples for the legendary stubbornness of the Line of Durin.

“I know that, too.” Thráin replied with a wry smile. “You’re my and your mother’s son after all, so I would expect nothing less from you. But you will have to live with me objecting to what you do, although I promise never to raise my hand against you again.”

Thorin hesitated, but then he nodded slightly.

“Thank you, _adad_.” Nobody missed the softly spoken Khuzdul word at the end and Balin smiled. He knew that Thráin and his son would collide again and again, likely on a multitude of issues, but he had to admit that, at least they had now openly acknowledged their differences and would try and be somewhat more understanding in the future.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really want to publish this at first, not exactly feeling good about my writing atm...but maybe there are still readers out there who read this thing and I don't want to disappoint y'all. Sorry for the bad quality.

 

The moment when they had to say goodbye to Namara and Arathorn came sooner than they had expected. Over the past weeks they had truly become accustomed to the presence of the two rangers and the travelling was almost fun in those moments when they managed to forget what had forced them on the road in the first place. The interaction between them had become easier and easier over time, and in the end even Thráin could be seen in grudging conversation with one of the rangers. Their evenings were often filled with songs and stories and more than once they marvelled at the how similar and yet different the rangers’ and dwarves’ legends were.

All of them were glad of the rangers’ company when they finally reached the river Anduin. The large stream was far too wide and deep to swim or walk across. On their own they probably would have built rafts to carry them across, but although the dwarves had all learned to swim in the steams inside the mountain and the springs of the River Running, none of them were truly adept at steering a boat or raft, especially not across a large river like this which could have hidden currents. Arathorn and Namara guided them to a place which, as they told the dwarrows, had been used to cross by the Dúnedain for decades. There were several boats hidden on either side of the stream to paddle across the river and although they were small, they were also well-made and sturdy enough to carry the weight of a pony and several dwarves additionally to whoever was steering them.

It took them a while to bring all members of the travelling group across, but they used the opportunity to learn more about paddling and steering from the two rangers. Whilst they were crossing, Namara told her small group consisting of Thorin, Frerin and Dís about her own son Argonui who was safely in the north with his aunts in her absence and how, as a young child, he had always been afraid of water. Only when they had once been caught in a thunderstorm outside and been completely drenched did he agree to learn how to swim and handle a boat, much to his parents’ amusement.

When they had all arrived on the other side, Arathorn and Namara looked at each other before Namara turned towards the dwarves, asking them a question that the two of them had seemingly been debating for a while.

“Our original plan was to return to our own lands after we had brought you safely across the Anduin.” she told them, trying to ignore Óin’s crestfallen face at her words.

“However,” Arathorn cut in. “The part of Middle-earth that we are in now, also known as the Wold, has little in terms of landmarks to navigate by, it consists mostly of grasslands. Although it is a part of Rohan there are few people living here nowadays - so we thought we might be able to accompany you across until we reach the river Entwash and with it the borders of the more populated parts of Rohan from where on Dunland or any other westward lands will be much easier to find once you get on to the North-South road.”

“The last decision is yours though.” Namara added. “We will not force our company upon you.”

The dwarrows exchanged glances. Dwalin saw how Thorin seemed to be tempted to speak up, but he seemingly remembered the talk with his father and decided to wait for Thráin or Thrór to announce what they thought would be best. The relationship between Thorin and Thráin had improved markedly since their discussion; it was clear that there were still differences between them and they would likely clash and argue more than once in the future; but the initial closeness of their family had at least been partly restored again. There were no more covert glances or ice-cold silences between them anymore, something that Dís and especially Frerin seemed to relish.

“But you can’t go!” That was little Óin’s voice. He tugged at Lís’ sleeve and looked up at her with pleading eyes, an expression that Varna knew only too well from her own children. “Please, _ama_ , tell them that they have to stay for a while longer!”

Lís gently put her hand on her son’s head and ruffled his hair.

“It’s not my decision to make.” she told him with a glance at Thráin and his father. “But I would like them to remain with us for some more time, too.”

Thráin sighed and exchanged a look with Thrór, who just gave him a small nod.

“I don’t think that anything is speaking against you coming with us. Your company would be…appreciated.”

It wasn’t exactly the most enthusiastic of responses, but Dwalin supposed that it was the most they could expect from Thráin at that point and for that, he was grateful. Namara nodded with a gracious smile and Óin seemed the happiest with the decision of all of them. Dwalin was relieved that Thráin had apparently overcome some part of his pride and he had a vague inkling of just how difficult it had to have been for him. He wondered about Namara’s and Arathorn’s motivations as well - they had talked about missing their son Argonui often enough and it must have been a while since they had seen him last. And although both of them were good enough at heart, neither stroke him as somebody who would do a good deed just for the sake of doing one. Maybe it was guilt that they hadn’t helped the dwarves after Smaug’s coming or they had their own goals so far south, but whatever it was, Dwalin was glad that they would have their company for a while longer.

They continued their travels for a while longer that day until the early afternoon. The wide open grassy planes that awaited them in the Wold offered little in terms of wildlife, so they decided to make camp for several days and stock up on their provisions by hunting and fishing as much as possible before they made their way further westwards. The decision was welcomed by everyone - the rest would do both ponies and dwarves a lot of good and it would be good for them to do some hunting instead of marching day after day.

The hunting teams were found quickly - Thorin, Dwalin and Frerin formed one of them, Fundin, Lís, Namara and Arathorn the second. They all agreed to be back at the latest at sundown whilst the others were setting up the camp and some rods for fishing. Arathorn had taught them how to do traps and snares additionally to those they already knew and so they agreed to set out several of them in places they would hopefully be able to remember the next day so they could recover whatever they would be able to catch.

The mood was almost cheerful when Frerin, Dwalin and Thorin set out - the weather was good and on the other side of the river they had been able to find plenty of game which gave them hopes that it might be similar here, too.

“Are you glad that they are staying with us for a while longer?” Dwalin asked after they had brought some distance between them and the camp. Both Thorin and Frerin nodded in reply.

“I like them.” Frerin mused. “They seem to be nice people and I think Óin grew really attached to them. Also, I find it reassuring to know that we won’t get lost between here and that other river they were talking about.”

“Hey, not everybody is as bad at direction as your part of the family tree.” Dwalin teased. He avoided Thorin’s elbow in his ribs just in time. Frerin grinned inwardly. If he would get a coin for every time Dwalin made fun of his brother’s sense of direction, he’d probably be able to bribe Smaug to get out of the mountain and leave them alone.

“Shut up.” Thorin growled in Dwalin’s direction, but Frerin could see the corners of his mouth twitching. “You don’t know these lands either.”

“Yeah. But I know how to read a map.” Dwalin grinned. This time he wasn’t fast enough to step away and Thorin’s kick caught him directly in the shin.

“Hey, I know how to read one too.” Frerin threw in. “Won’t be of much use though if everything looks the same like Arathorn said.”

“Or the sun. You can always use the sun to figure out where you’re going.” Thorin added. Dwalin just rolled his eyes in reply.

“Pretty sure you need some practise for that. And I’m also sure _you_ don’t have it.” he noted mercilessly. Frerin didn’t even try to cover up his laugh, especially when he saw Thorin’s answering scowl that made him look at least fifty years older than he actually was.

“Maybe we should try and be a little more quiet.” he suggested when they had all calmed down again. “Or we’ll scare away all game that’s left.”

“Frerin’s right. No more insulting my honour, you giant oaf. Or I might have to send you back to camp.” Thorin somehow managed a dead serious tone, but Frerin could see the sparkling of laughter in his eyes.

“Yes, my prince.” Dwalin replied, in a voice that clearly signalled he meant to do anything but. Thorin simply cuffed him over the head.

They returned in the evening with a stag that Thorin had brought down with his bow and arrow, although it had been more of a lucky shot than anything else. Too late they had realised that none of the three of them had much experience with shooting arrows and that such inability might be a slight hindrance during a hunting venture. They all quietly agreed that they had to train more with bow and arrow. Frerin suggested jokingly that if they did so, they might one day be able to best even the elvish archers after which Thorin gave him a death glare and suggested that he should never mention the subject of elves in the presence of their father or grandfather again.

The other hunting team seemed to have been more successful than them, although they all hoped that their snares might yield more for them the next day. Those who had stayed to prepare the camp and care for the ponies had also managed to catch some fish and collect herbs, enriching their evening meal and provisions even further.

After a few days across the Wold it already showed that Namara's and Arathorn's advice had been sensible. Once they left the more forested areas along the river edge, there was indeed nothing more but grassy plains with occasional outcrops between them from which a faint dark edge was visible that constituted the forest of Fangorn, a place that the rangers advised them not to go to for it held its own secrets thousands of years old.

They were lucky and ran into no more orc groups during their journey through the Wold although Arathorn told them that one of the reasons why this area was so sparsely settled and barely used by the Rohirrim was because orc raids happened relatively often here. None of the dwarves felt particularly comfortable sleeping on the open plains with barely a cover around them and they were grateful for the days when they could withdraw into the shadow of some outcrops to have at least some cover.

They had two watches set throughout each the night in rotating pairs now instead of only one, just to make sure that there would be no unsavoury surprises for them. Frerin was glad when he could feel the firmness of stone in his back or at least know it close by - otherwise the wide, starlit sky seemed so vast and huge like it was about to swallow him up any moment. Those were the nights when he missed the confines of the mountain most, the security and feeling of home and peace that the firm and sturdy walls of stone had always managed to instil in him.

On those nights they all huddled together, families first but friends too until all of them were in almost the same spot. This was something that, despite several tries to explain, they hadn't been able to make the two rangers understand - Namara had told them that for her, a starlit night under a wide sky was her favourite, the one were she felt free and as if the entire world stood open to her. Frerin wondered how well she would do within Erebor's walls - would she feel the same insecurity that ran through him out here? He wished he would be able to show her the wonders of the place that had once been their home.

The river Entwash approached almost too quickly and when they finally saw it from an elevated view point, not everybody was full of joy. Little Óin in particular wasn't too happy, knowing too well that it meant that his favourite rangers would be gone soon, but many others felt a tinge of sadness too at the thought they would have to say goodbye. Middle-earth was vast and with dangers lurking everywhere it was unsure whether they would ever see them again. Smaug's coming and the events that followed had shown everyone of them that time was a very limited thing and you never knew when death would come and snatch someone away. This was even more true for men, with their relatively frail bodies and short life span.

Arathorn and Namara led them to a place where the river was shallow enough for the dwarves and ponies to be able to wade through without too much trouble. They themselves would not cross, but instead head straight north, back to find their kin and spend some time with their reunited family before the wilderness was calling them again. They spent one last evening together not far from the river bank before the moment of goodbye finally came the next morning.

Óin was the one who started crying the moment that it became clear that the time for goodbye had truly come. Both Lís and Namara tried in vain to soothe him - the little dwarfling seemed inconsolable. Only when Namara presented him with a set of cunningly fashioned leather pouches to store medicine in did he smile a little through his sniffling. Óin insisted on butting his head with Namara in true dwarven fashion and she hugged him back, explaining to him that this was how men expressed affection between each other.

More than one dwarf returned the hug with both Namara and Arathorn, although a few of them shook hands only. Still, the gesture seemed to be honest and real. Arathorn handed Thráin a map he had drawn up of the area they would be going through which was a lot more accurate than the one they carried with them; it actually showed many of the Rohirrim settlements by name and all the landmarks that would lie on their way from here to Dunland. He once again told them which route was best to take - cross Rohan until they met the big North-South road at the fords of Isen and follow it for a while until Dunland lay to the east of them.

"We might come by in a few years if our way leads us there." Namara smiled with a twinkle of mirth in her eyes, especially when she heard Óin whooping. "And see how your settlement is faring. Although I do not doubt that you will be doing well, at least as long as no large rivers are nearby."

Everybody chuckled at that, remembering well how they had met her and their misadventures in trying to steer the boats across the Anduin.

"And maybe Argonui will be able to accompany us then. I'm sure he would be delighted to meet new company." Arathorn added, a rare grin appearing on his face. Namara smiled at him.

"You are more than welcome to visit." Varna had stepped forward after exchanging a glance with several of the other dwarrows. "We will be glad to accommodate you."

Frerin wasn't the only one who heard the longing in her voice to finally find a place to settle down after having been without a home for so many months now. He knew that Varna had always liked to travel, but she had always been just as glad to return home to her husband and children; when Frerin had asked her after it, she had once told him that going away was much easier if you knew what awaited you once you came back. Frerin began to understand what she had meant now - he thought he might have been far more excited about the 'adventure' they were having if he knew he could turn back any moment and return home to his parents' warmth and the security of the mountain.

None of them seemed to be willing to make the first step to finish their goodbyes until Arathorn sighed and put a hand on his wife's shoulder.

"We should be on our way now. There is quite some distance to cover before darkness."

Namara sighed and nodded her agreement. After one more round of hugs and encouraging words they disappeared, turning away from the river edge and heading north towards their own home. Silence reigned amongst the dwarrows for a moment that was only interrupted by Óin's sniffling as Lís tried in vain to comfort her son.

"Let's get going and cross this blasted river." Thráin was the first to break the silence. He was still uncomfortable around water and Frerin was sure his father wasn't looking forward to having to wade across one of them. To be honest, neither was he, but Thráin was right - the earlier they were done, the earlier they could continue on the other side and the more time they had to dry whatever clothes had gotten wet in the course of crossing.

"Yes." Thorin agreed and made a show of starting to get out of his boots until everyone else was following his example. "Let's go."


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, another one. Our dwarrows just can't really catch a break, can they. I hope this chapter makes sense - you will get a lot more details about the Rohirrim in future ones, but I think the dwarves' focus was on something different this time. 
> 
> Also, as mentioned in FWTBT already, the next chapter might take a tiny bit longer since I'll be taking a nice wonderful holiday with my muse in a few weeks :).

Even though it was summer, the waters of the river were still icy cold. The dwarves cursed so loudly as they were crossing that Dwalin was sure Namara and Arathorn would be able hear it no matter how far away they already were. The group of dwarves looked rather comical when they reached the other side of the river, with their feet bare and trousers rolled up above their knees. They spent a few minutes drying their feet with some cloths and letting the warm air do the rest before putting their boots and socks back on. Dwalin sighed happily when he could feel the familiar heaviness around his feet again, already feeling a lot more comfortable. Dwarves definitely weren't made to walk barefoot. It had made him feel oddly vulnerable.

They spread the cloths they had used to dry their feet and legs on their and the ponies' packs before they set off further westward, as the rangers had told them to. The feeling of the landscape was somehow different to the Wold that they had walked through before. Superficially, it looked very similar - mostly grasslands with some interspersed rocky outcrops. However, it felt less hostile than the Wold, as if it wasn't as tainted as those plains had been. Dwalin remembered Namara talking about how the Wold saw orc raids a lot more often than the lands on the other side of the Entwash and privately pondered if that was the reason.

Nonetheless - all of them were on their guard. It was much more likely that they would run into the people of this country on these plains and everyone of them firmly believed that such a meeting would happen sooner or later. There was no telling how they would be received and when Dwalin thought back to some of the more unpleasant encounters they'd had with the folk of men, he felt worry creep up inside him. What if they would get chased away from the lands here? How would they cross the Misty Mountains then?

Their ponies seemed equally nervous, snorting and throwing their heads back until Lís and Gróin stepped up to them to pat them on their necks and speak a few quiet words to calm them down. They camped early that night, under the cover a large rocky outcrop, and kept several watches in case patrols would pass by their camp or orcs had decided to cross the river on their tracks.

Several days went past without any major incidences, although they saw increased signs that the land was being used. They saw several huts, although all abandoned, and tracks on the plains that had likely been made by horses. Two of the huts looked like they had been burned down, and the ground was bearing traces of a fight. Orc raids? Dwalin felt the nervousness inside him rise again. That night, they all kept a firm hold on their weapons even when sleeping, the youngest of their group securely tucked in their middle.

The next day they saw more signs of destruction, some of them clearly fresh and from the previous night. All of them were on high alert, ready to fight at any moment. It wasn’t until they stopped for the night, however, that they heard the sounds of battle. The sun had almost set, but there was still enough light left to see by. It was Thráin who alerted them to the noises first and after a moment the other dwarrows heard it as well - the clanging of weapons, shouting and whinnying of horses and screams of those fighting.

“We’ll scout ahead.” Varna whispered and, together with Lís, she set off in the direction of the noise.

There was barely a word spoken in the time that they were gone. Thankfully, dwarves saw well in the beginning darkness and so there was no need for them to take any lights that could have given the two dwarrowdams away. Nonetheless, everyone breathed a sigh of relief when Varna and Lís returned.

“There’s a group of horsemen fighting a pack of orcs.” Varna reported quietly. “There aren’t that many riders, but the orc pack is rather large and I think the men are at a disadvantage despite the torches they brought.”

Fundin and Thráin exchanged a glance at her words.

“Should we fight?” Fundin asked quietly. Several amongst them looked hesitant, wondering if they should take such a risk.

“We fight.” Thráin said suddenly. Thorin looked up, surprised by his father’s declaration until he saw determination shimmering in Thráin’s eyes and Dwalin could see the trust he had for his people reflected in them.

“Nobody deserves to be slaughtered somewhere away from home by a stray orc pack.” Thráin added and suddenly Dwalin knew where the determination in his face came from. Almost every dwarf knew somebody or was related to someone who had lost relatives due to the orcs. Fighting against them came as naturally to them as drinking and eating. Sometimes Dwalin wondered where the orcs thought the same.

“Frerin, Hulda, you stay here with the young ones.” At times Dwalin forgot that Thráin had trained as a warrior and commanded part of Erebor’s army for a while. The tone he was using now made it clear that he wouldn't accept any disobedience. “The others, arm yourselves. Leave your packs and take only your weapons.”

“ _Adad,_ I want to come too!” Dís’ voice piped up. “I want to help!”

Thráin was about to open his mouth, but Frerin was faster. If he was insulted that his father had ordered him to stay here he didn’t show it; instead he put his hand on his sister’s shoulder and smiled at her.

“Don’t worry, Dís. You can help me protect the ponies and the others should any orcs come in our direction, yes?”

“Yes!” Dís nodded enthusiastically and Thráin gave his son a quiet, grateful smile.

They prepared for battle quickly and in silence, concentrating on their task and trying to be as fast as possible. Sometimes, even a few moments were enough to bring about a decision in a fight. Dwalin hoped that they weren’t going to be too late. Clutching his weapon in his hands, he exchanged a glance with Thorin who gave him a small nod and smile.

Thráin watched everyone preparing themselves and nodded once they were finished.

“Let’s go.” he said quietly. From now on, they would talk little so as not to alert the orcs to their presence and use the moment of surprise. Dwalin could only hope that the horse riders would recognise that it was dwarves who came to help them, not more orcs. He didn’t want to end his life by being accidentally cut down by some over eager Rohirrim.

They approached the site of the fight quietly. The fighters were some distance away, enough that the fires from their camp probably couldn't be seen by them, especially hidden behind some rocks as they were. The descending darkness was providing them with some cover although it would be mostly useless against the orcs since they were able to see in darkness as well as dwarves, if not better - but the creatures were currently too busy fighting against the horses and their riders to pay much attention to what was going on in their backs. However, charging at completely unsuspecting enemies, even if they were orcs, was against any good dwarf’s honour - therefore the dwarrows stood up tall and raised their weapons with Khuzdul shouts of defiance and courage shortly before they reached the fighters.

The battle stopped for a moment as both riders and orcs were puzzled by the approach of several bellowing dwarves, their weapons reflecting the light of the torches as they were charging towards them. For a moment, Dwalin wondered what they thought was happening - ghosts maybe, another horde of orcs or some old legend of theirs come back to life? Then they clashed with the first row of orcs and everything else was swept away by the frenzy of the battle.

The fight was brief and violent. The orcs were already slightly exhausted from fighting despite their higher than average endurance and clearly the arrival of the dwarves was completely unexpected. The riders, once they had noticed that the mysterious fighters weren’t attacking them, seemed to be encouraged by their presence and renewed their own attacks with more vigour than before. Dwalin barely saw what they were doing, however - he was far too busy with his immediate surroundings, keeping Thorin’s back free and everyone, including himself, safe.

He dodged the blow of one sword, parried that of another and sprang out of the reach of a third one. Behind him he could feel Thorin moving in a joint rhythm. The two of them were well attuned to each other, if not quite perfectly yet, and the countless hours of training and sparring together had certainly paid off.

One of the horse riders cut down the orc in front of him, giving Dwalin a moment to breathe. He turned around and helped Thorin clear a spot at his side. Thorin turned around, flashing him a grateful smile, but his eyes widened as he looked at something behind him.

“Dwalin! Behind you!” he shouted.

The warning came slightly too late.

Dwalin turned, but he wasn’t quite fast enough in doing so - at least the motion saved his life and the fallen orc who he had believed dead but who wasn’t, only cut a deep wound in Dwalin’s side instead of running him through. Dwalin roared in pain and slashed out blindly, severing the orc’s head.

“Dwalin!” There was panic in Thorin’s voice.

Thankfully, the battle was almost over. Thorin was fending off the three more orcs who had seen that Dwalin was wounded and were advancing on him. Dwalin was busy trying to keep his balance and pressed a hand against his side which grew slick with blood far too quickly. He didn’t even realise at first when it was over until Thorin put his hand on his shoulder and turned him around.

“‘m fine.” Dwalin murmured. For some reason he found it hard to speak properly, the words coming out sluggish and slow.

“You’re not.” Thorin replied, voice trembling. He was urging Dwalin to sit down, his hands trying to feel where the wound was although the dark blood was hard to make out in the beginning night, even with eyes as good as theirs. “Let me see.”

Dwalin tried to bat Thorin’s hands away, but suddenly he felt too weak to do so. He could hear shouting from further away. Probably his family. It was his last thought before his legs gave in underneath and the ground rushed up to meet him.

*

Thorin caught his friend before he hit the ground. He could feel panic flooding his mind and for a moment he didn't know what to do.

"Dwalin! Dwalin, no, NO!" The name was over his lips as if saying it could keep anything bad from happening. He pressed one hand to his friend's side where he had seen the orc's weapon hit before and could feel the blood flowing between his fingers. Far, far too much of it.

"Help!" he shouted, not caring who would hear. Some half-remembered teachings in the back of his mind told him to keep pressure on the wound and so he lowered his friend to the ground, shrugging out of his overcoat and pressing it against Dwalin's side as firmly as he could.

Thorin was unable to take his eyes off Dwalin's form, but he could hear the footfalls of heavy boots on the ground approaching, together with the shouts of the other dwarves. Balin was the first to reach them, shortly before his parents and Thráin. He fell down to his knees besides his brother, voice as frantic as his motions when he called his name.

"What happened?"

That was Varna's voice. She sounded strangely calm, but when Thorin looked at her he could see her hands trembling and her eyes were wide and unblinking.

"Orc sword. We thought they were dead, but-" He couldn't even complete the sentence.

"We need to get him back to camp as fast as possible." Thráin said. "Come on, let's carry him."

"We don't have a stretcher." Lís pointed out behind them. By now the other dwarrows were standing in a protective ring around Dwalin, hiding him from sight. Thorin didn't even notice at first when several of the horsemen came up behind them, his own heart hammering so loudly that it was hard to notice anything else besides.

"Is someone wounded?"

They all turned around as one at the sound of the rider's voice. It was strangely high, as if the horseman were still half a child. There were three of them behind them, their horses snorting nervously and throwing their heads. In the light of their torches Thorin could see both mistrust and interest in their eyes.

"Yes." Thráin stood up a little straighter. "He needs help as soon as possible."

The riders exchanged glances between them. By now they had realised that the dwarves weren't posing a threat to them and even though they still seemed wary, they had lowered their weapons although they weren't coming down from their horses yet.

"How far away is your camp?" one of them, the same one as before, asked.

"Not too far." Thráin replied. "But it might be too far to get him there in time."

Thorin wanted to stand up and shout at his father not to say such things, that it wasn't true, that Dwalin would survive no matter what because the Maker could not be so cruel as to rob him of yet another one he loved.

"We could cover the distance quickly enough with a horse." The horseman offered hesitantly. The dwarves shifted slightly and exchanged glances. Thorin felt his insides twist with fear when he thought of giving Dwalin over to those unknown men on their frighteningly large beasts. But then, it might indeed save his life. All their medical supplies were at the camp, as well as Hulda who had picked up some of Namara's teachings as well.

"Not alone." he said quietly, taking a deep breath as he stood up. Balin took over from him and was pressing the cloth against Dwalin's side whilst Varna began to wrap stripes ripped from her own clothing firmly around Dwalin's mid-section to keep the pressure constant. "I'm coming with him. You will also need someone to show you where our camp is."

The rider nodded. Thráin put a hand on his son's shoulder from behind before Thorin could move any further.

"How do we know can we trust you?" he demanded to know from the riders. Thorin almost turned around and hissed at his father, but he could feel the genuine concern behind the question.

"You saved our lives, whoever you are. Such a debt will not go unpaid by the Rohirrim." The horseman offered earnestly. Thráin nodded. A debt based on honour and service he could understand and accept, especially when it would hopefully serve to save the life of one of theirs.

They lost no time in carefully handing Dwalin over to the rider. Thorin felt more than reluctant to give Dwalin into completely unknown hands and non-dwarven ones at that. However, there wasn't space enough on the horses for both dwarves additionally to the rider. A second one came up next to him and offered his hand to Thorin.

"You can ride in front of me. Swefred is a good horse, he will be able to carry us both."

Thorin hesitated. He would never admit it out loud, but the horses scared him; he was fine with ponies since he had grown used to them from an early age on, but horses were something different. And those ones were large and of tall build, taller even than the ones he had sometimes seen in Dale. One kick from those hooves or a fall from its high back could probably kill him.

Dwalin groaned quietly and Thorin's gaze whipped back to him, travelling over the worried faces of the other dwarrows until they landed on Dwalin's pale one. He thought about how every second was precious, how Dwalin might die if he didn't help and took a deep breath. Thorin would do everything for his friend to survive, even climb on top of one of these massive beasts, leaving himself completely at the mercy of them and their riders.

He took the rider's offered hand and, with the help of the other dwarrows, let himself be pulled up upon the horse the man had called Swefred before. His legs didn't even reach down the flank of the beast and suddenly, he felt rather small. The horse whinnied and threw back its head nervously at the unusual weight and Thorin held on to the bit of saddle in front of him, praying he wouldn't get thrown off.

"Which direction?" The rider behind him asked. Thorin tried to still the trembling in his arms, suddenly thankful that Dwalin was unconscious. His friend would have been at least as uncomfortable as him.

"This way." he replied, trying to sound confident as he pointed into the night. He admired the rider behind him that he could sit so firmly on his horse's back, with only one hand on the reigns and the other holding up the torch to shed some light on their surroundings. The man gave him a quick instruction on how to best hold on so that he wouldn't trouble the horse and then urged into a gentle walk that soon turned into a faster gait when the way became clear.

Thorin resisted the urge to start praying to his Maker aloud and simply held on for dear life. With each lurch he thought he would lose hold and fall to the ground and he couldn't help but glance over to Dwalin every few moments, fearing that his friend would get thrown off sooner or later. However, his rider seemed to have Dwalin in a secure enough hold for the moment.

The ride seemed to last an eternity and Thorin's legs were trembling when they finally came to a halt. He took a deep breath, resisting the urge to jump down from the horse's back as fast as he could. Instead he waited until the rider had gotten down himself and, ignoring the Rohirrim's offered hand, carefully climbed down. He couldn't suppress the sigh of relief when his feet touched firm ground again.

"Thorin!" Frerin and Hulda were standing in front of the horses, their weapons raised. The dwarflings were crowding behind them, although as Thorin watched, Dís crept forwards to stand beside her brother, raising a little dagger of her own. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Dwalin was wounded." Thorin said carefully, jogging over to the other horse where he reached out to take Dwalin from the horseman. "They helped us."

The dwarrows immediately sheathed their weapons again before helping Thorin with carrying Dwalin towards the fire. Hulda had already began shouting instructions at the dwarflings, telling them to boil water and get their medical kit. Óin was running to get his own little medicine pouch he had received from Namara. Thorin threw a thank you in the direction of the horsemen, but was too busy helping his friend to deal more with them. He didn't even notice when they rode off to join with their comrades again.

All he had eyes for was Dwalin.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course I can't stop writing even when I'm on holiday :P. So there you go, a new chapter freshly cooked up at my muse's place, ha. Enjoy! This has some very slight Dworin goodness.

Dwalin was screaming.

Throin had always thought himself hardened to whatever the world might be throwing at him ever since he had seen his home burning and being reduced to rubble in the wake of Smaug’s coming; sometimes the screams of the dying and wounded and the smell of burnt flesh and ash were still haunting his dreams and he didn’t think he would ever be able to forget. He though that there was nothing worse than he had already been through.

He was wrong.

Dwalin, although still half unconscious, was writhing under his and Frerin’s hands as they were desperately trying to hold him still so he wouldn’t hurt himself any further as Hulda was cauterizing the wound. Thorin couldn’t help but look away as the dwarrowdam pressed the flat side of the glowing blade into Dwalin’s flesh just where the wound was. He almost felt like a coward for doing so. Instead of dwelling on that uncomfortable feeling, however, he increased the pressure of his hands, trying to keep Dwalin’s upper body down on the hard ground even as the rough scream from his friend’s throat was tearing away at the edges of his mind. It was hard; even not in control of himself anymore Dwalin was wickedly strong.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry...” It took him a while to understand that it was his own voice murmuring these words, in the desperate hope that Dwalin might somehow understand that the pain was necessary, that they were only trying to help him. Of course it was useless.

Dwalin’s body convulsed again and Hulda cursed as the blade slipped slightly, leaving a flat line of seared flesh next to the where the wound had been. Dwalin groaned and then he suddenly went limp under Thorin’s hands, unconsciousness finally having taken over his mind. Hulda quickly finished the treatment of his wound, gesturing to Óin to bring her the paste they had been preparing from some crushed herbs which she generously spread over the seared flesh before wrapping it tightly in some of their clean bandages.

Thorin refused to part from his friend’s side for the moment, worried that he would suddenly stop breathing when he wasn’t watching. However, he was soon forced to move away at least a little when the other dwarves returned from the place of battle, out of breath and panic in their eyes when they saw Dwalin’s still form on the ground. Varna, Balin and Fundin immediately huddled closely around him, Fundin murmuring a quick prayer to their Maker for his son’s safety.

"If he makes it through this night, he should be fine."

Hulda’s voice was rather quiet, but nonetheless a sigh went through the assembled dwarves at her words. Of course the ‘if’ was not to be taken lightly as Lís could confirm when she took a closer look at Dwalin; this night would prove crucial in his survival. Suddenly Thorin wished they had a true healer amongst them - Óin would surely be a great one in the future and his mother and Hulda were doing all they could, especially after Namara's instructions, but serious emergencies still posed a threat to them. What would they do if Dwalin’s condition started worsening throughout the night? Suddenly Thorin had to suppress the urge to grab Dwalin’s hand to wish him strength for what was to come.

Their evening meal was a quiet affair, their mood dampened and almost morose. Normally they would celebrate every victory over the orcs even during the hardships on the road, but this day they remained quiet and downcast. Dwalin always had a helping hand around him as they tried to force some medicine down his throat to combat the pain and any fever that might arise from the unsavoury orc weapon that had slashed so deeply into his flesh. He remained mostly unconscious, although every quiet groan or twitch of him was met with worry and support from both his family and friends.

It quickly became clear that they would hold vigil at Dwalin’s side throughout the night additionally to the usual watches. Thorin declared that he would take over the first watch and then swap for a place at Dwalin’s side; he knew that he wouldn’t catch much sleep that night in any way. Thráin frowned, but didn’t say anything, knowing his son well enough. Thorin had just settled comfortably against a rock that was jutting out of the grass around them and from where he had a good view over both the surrounding landscape and the camp with Dwalin’s still figure and Fundin sitting by his side when the sound of hoofbeats made him sit up straight once more again. 

By the time the Rohirrim had reached them most of the dwarrows were on their feet again, weapons drawn and ready to face whatever it was that was coming at them. Even when they recognised those they had fought side by side with earlier the dwarves didn’t quite give up their defensive stances; they had been told more than once before to leave and look for a different space to spend the night by men who didn’t want them too close to their own settlements. And this particular night, moving as out of the question, especially regarding Dwalin’s state.

The riders stopped in a respectful distance from them, however, three of them dismounting and approaching them slowly. They were bearing torches, but had no weapons drawn and their palms were open and held outward in a gesture signifying peace. Thorin thought he recognised one or two of them as those who had taken Dwalin and him back to the camp, but he wasn’t sure. He’d had different worries during the terrifying ride than memorising the faces of their helpers.

“We came to thank you for your help earlier.” The tall rider who was closest to them said with a small bow. “My name is Synne and these are my companions, Deorwine and Esdwig.”

Thráin stepped forward, his face and manner courteous.

“Thráin, son of Thrór, at your service.” He nodded at them and Thorin knew of the effort he consciously took to appear courteous and polite.

“We brought supplies – food, mainly, and medicine for the one amongst you who was wounded.”

At the rider's words her companions stepped forward and opened the bags they were carrying, displaying the items she had been talking about. Thráin and Hulda stepped forward to take a closer look at them. After a moment, Thráin nodded.

"Our gratitude for your gifts." he replied politely with a small nod. "They are more than welcome."

"Is there anything else you might need?" Synne asked as her companions handed over everything they had brought. "Our settlement isn't far from here, only a few leagues southwest. The leader of our troop has agreed to let you stay right outside the village under our protection for the next few nights as long as your companion might need to recover. We hope he wasn't too badly wounded?"

"He is still unconscious." Thráin replied cautiously. "This night will be the one deciding his fate. We will know more on the morrow. But your offer is greatly appreciated and as soon as we are able to move we will be glad to take you up on it."

"Then we will add you to those we keep in our thoughts this night."  Synne nodded gravely.

There was a sympathetic glint in her eyes as she spoke. Suddenly Thorin remembered the still forms of horses and men he had seen on the ground during the battle. He was sure that they wouldn't be the only ones keeping vigil tonight.

"Our thanks." Thráin's voice was still polite and filled with honest gratitude , but his tone made it clear that he wished for the riders to depart now and leave them. Thorin found himself agreeing with his father – the dwarves still disliked the company of strangers, especially during emotional nights such as this one and with a vulnerable one amongst their midst. Death, birth and illness were very private things amongst dwarrows, not suited for strangers' eyes, only their own and those of their Maker. Synne seemed to understand Thráin's words, for she signalled her companions to depart and leave the dwarves to their own devices for the rest of the night.

Thorin returned to his own watch place after they had departed. Varna settled down at her son’s side whilst the rest of the dwarrows turned to their own bedrolls, apart from Lís who would keep the first watch that night together with Thorin on the other side of the camp. Balin and Fundin settled down close to Dwalin and somehow Thorin doubted that either of them would get much sleep, just like him and Varna. His watch was thankfully quiet and he couldn’t help but glance over to Dwalin from time to time, always afraid of seeing the still form of his friend unmoving and dead.

When his watch was ended he nodded at Lís and stepped over to his father’s and Fundin’s bedrolls to wake them up for their shift of the night’s watch. He smiled quickly at the sleeping figures of Frerin and Dís before he settled down next to Varna, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Any change?” he asked her quietly. She looked up at him and shook her head. Despite the hint of a smile on her lips at his sight she looked tired and her eyes were rimmed with red.

“No. I’m beginning to fear he might be developing a fever, but he hasn’t woken up yet and I just...”

“I know.” Thorin tried to sound reassuring, but he knew he barely succeeded. “You should lie down and try to catch some sleep. I can watch over him for a while.”

“I don’t think I can sleep.” Varna answered with an apologetic smile. “But you can keep us both company, if you wish. I’m sure he would welcome it.”

Thorin was unsure how to interpret her last statement but he gave Varna another small smile. She felt her son’s brow again and sighed quietly, filling a small cup from a pitcher next to her that contained the medicine they were supposed to give Dwalin to both strengthen him and combat the pain and eventual fever. At a nod from her Thorin gently pushed his fingers under Dwalin’s head and curled them into his coarse hair. Dwalin shifted slightly and seemed to mumble something, but his eyes remained closed and his breathing laboured.

Thorin lifted his head up slightly and inclined it, trying to make it easier for Varna to try and bring some of the medicine down Dwalin’s throat. For a moment he had to refuse the urge to thread his fingers through Dwalin’s hair. Instead he gently lowered it down once more when Varna was done, running his thumb quickly along Dwalin’s temple before letting go again.

“He looks so different than usual.” he couldn’t help but remark when looking at him. Dwalin’s face was usually alive in a way he had rarely seen, be it with anger, affection, annoyance or any other kind of emotion. For him to be so still and pale was unnatural.

“Did you know that even as a babe I could never get him to lie still?” An old smile of remembrance flickered over Varna’s face. “He would never be where I put him down when I turned around. The number of times I almost panicked because I thought he had gotten himself in some kind of trouble or had hurt himself by falling down somewhere...”

She shook her head and Thorin couldn’t help but grin. The dwarrows rarely spoke of the time in the mountain nowadays, the pain of its loss still too fresh and sharp for many of them.

“But then I remember a young prince who would always crawl after him even when Dwalin was already tottering along on his unsteady legs. I think every dwarf in the mountain had soon learned to keep an eye on the two of you because you would never know where you would show up next.”

Thorin chuckled quietly. He had few memories from when they had been so young but all of them were treasures inside his mind – the sight of dozens of glowworms on the low ceiling of a cave, the feeling of his grandfather’s coarse beard with its metal ornaments in the grip of his fingers, Thráin’s deep bellied laughter that made his entire stomach vibrate and Thorin giggle in joy, his mother’s voice as she was singing to him, Fundin’s big hands picking him up and twirling around and, of course, Dwalin’s small tubby fingers wrapping around his and pulling him this way and that, always by his side.

"And I remember four worried parents who kept reprimanding us not to run off all the time." Thorin replied with a smile.

He was rewarded with a little laugh from Varna.

"Should you ever decide to have children of your own you will know why." she told him. It was said without placing any expectations on him and Thorin was quietly grateful for it. Even though love fell where it fell and dwarves never knew when, where  or in whom they might find their One, he knew that his father was quietly hoping to have grandchildren of his own to spoil one day and see their family line secured.

"Maybe, one day, yes." Thorin replied carefully. He didn't quite know what else to say.  The subject of finding your One had always been a very private one for dwarrows. If he was honest he had never thought about it very much himself. Maybe because he felt no need in his life for anyone else. The people he had around him were enough to keep him content and happy.

 Varna watched him with a small smile on her face.

"Well, there's no hurry. I'm sure you will find whoever is your One soon enough."

Thorin nodded. Dwalin was more important in this moment anyway. He felt his friend's forehead and was worried to find that it had grown hot in the moments that they had been talking.

"Varna." he said quietly. He couldn't quite suppress the fear in his voice. "I think Dwalin has a fever."

Varna cursed rather colourfully and confirmed his suspicion a moment later. She rummaged in the pile of medicines and small items next to her before coming up with a small package of willowbark and a cloth. She dipped the cloth in some cool water before handing it to Thorin and standing up from where she had been sitting. Thorin could see Fundin looking over to them, obviously sensing that something was wrong.

"Could you look after him for a moment?" Varna asked him and he nodded. He saw her stoking the  fire and  putting up some water to boil more willowbark tea and then step over to where Fundin was sitting. He looked away when Fundin leaned his head on his wife's shoulder, not wanting to intrude on this moment of intimacy between them.

Instead he carefully wrung out the cloth in his hand until it was merely damp and cold and placed it on Dwalin's forehead. Dwalin didn't open his eyes but he shifted slightly and groaned, whether in discomfort or relief because of the cloth Thorin couldn’t tell.

"Shhhhhh." he whispered gently. "It'll be fine, Dwalin. Just promise me you'll keep on fighting."

He refused to even consider the possibility that this might be the end for his best friend. Dwalin groaned again and seemed to murmur something in response. Thorin hoped that he might have heard him even through the haze of his fever. For a moment he was reminded of the one time a young Dwalin had fallen seriously ill and how they had all spent two frantic days and nights at his bedside. Thráin had wanted to forbid Thorin to do so because he feared the sickness was infectious, as the same one had carried away his own mother only a few months before, but Thorin hadn't listened to him. When Dwalin had finally opened his eyes back then Thorin had promised him that he would always be there whenever his friend awoke from illness or injury.

After a while Varna returned and Thorin could spot the traces of tears on her face, but she seemed calm and composed once more when she sat down next to him.

“I wonder whether we should wake up Balin.” Her tone sounded lost, as if she was simply thinking out loud. “He would never forgive me should he be asleep whilst Dwalin...”

Thorin put a hand on her arm in comfort, before she could finish the sentence, as if saying it out loud would make the possibility more real.

“Let him sleep.” he suggested softly. “I am sure Balin would know if his brother would be in mortal danger.”

Thorin knew that he would be the same should anything ever happen to Frerin. He had always been able to feel when something was wrong with either of his two siblings. Balin would surely be the same, especially regarding how tightly knit his family was.

“Probably.” Varna gave him an exhausted smile. They were silent for a while, both watching Dwalin as he fought against the consequences of the wound in his side. They tried to force more of the fresh tea down his throat and regularly changed the cloth on his forehead, but beyond that there wasn’t much they could do.

“I’m sure he’s going to tell us all off for worrying so much about him tomorrow.” Thorin said suddenly. He didn’t quite know what had drove him to say those words, whether it was pure desperation or that the silence around them had become too heavy.

“Probably.” Varna agreed. “He never liked it when any of us were afraid for him or worried...”

“Yeah.” Following a sudden impulse, Thorin pulled Varna close, pressing their foreheads together. “He will be fine, you’ll see. Dwalin is the strongest dwarrow I know.”

He said the words as much to reassure the dwarrowdam he had grown so fond of as to reassure himself. Varna nodded after a moment and smiled slightly.

“Yes. Yes, he is.”

After a moment they both moved out of the embrace and turned back towards Dwalin. Thorin sighed and tried to settle in a more comfortable position. It was going to be a long night.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again! I don't really have much to say to this chapter except that Dwalin-Thorin dialogue is still an absolute joy to write and I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it :).

Dwalin woke up to the lingering smell of bacon in the air, lively chatter around him, and a sharp pain piercing his side. For a moment he just lay there, his eyes remaining closed and letting all the impressions from inside and outside his body wash over him, trying to remember what had happened. He could recall that they had gone into battle during the night and he remembered fighting and then getting hit by an orc's blade. From then on everything became hazy - he dimly recalled shouting and firm hands on him together with a burning pain, his family's and Thorin's voices and the distinct impression of being hoisted up on something. As much as he tried, however, he couldn't make much sense of any of the jumbled memories in his mind.

He finally decided to open his eyes, groaning as he was almost blinded by the sudden brightness of a clear blue sky. His whole body was still aching and he was thirsty; yet when he tried to move agony lanced through him like an arrow from the wound in his side and he went rigid. This was the first time he had ever been so seriously injured and he thought the pain wasn't quite like anything else he'd ever experienced. There was a rustling next to him and when he turned his head slightly he saw his father, smiling down at him.

"Dwalin. You're awake." Fundin's voice was a deep and comforting rumble, the same one Dwalin remembered from when he had been but a young dwarfling. It had always managed to comfort him, even back then, because it told him that everything would be well.

"It certainly feels that way." Dwalin replied - or better, tried to reply, but his throat was so dry he barely managed more than a croak. Fundin reached behind him to come up with a flask that he held to Dwalin's lips, supporting his head and tilting it with his other hand. Dwalin took a few swallows of the slightly bitter brew and coughed when he almost overdid it.

"Slowly." Fundin said softly, his voice still brimming with both relief and concern. "Not too much at once, or you'll get sick."

There were more voices around them and when Dwalin slowly turned his head he saw Balin and Thorin on his other side, just as his mother came up behind Fundin, putting a hand on her husband's shoulder. Dwalin began to feel rather crowded, but then he realised that his injury must have been worse than he'd initially thought. His suspicion was confirmed when Balin squeezed his shoulder and told him that he was glad to finally see him awake. After a few more swallows of the drink Fundin had offered him Dwalin finally trusted his voice enough to speak again.

"What happened?" he asked. He saw them exchange gazes before Varna answered his query.

"We helped the Rohirrim in their fight against the orcs yesterday. We were victorious but you were wounded. During the night your fever rose and we-" her voice broke off for a moment as a sliver of pain flickered over her face that was echoed in Fundin's eyes. "But it seems like the worst has passed for now, although it will take some time for you to recover fully, I expect."

"So I was unconscious all night?" If felt weird to Dwalin to have an entire part of a day simply _missing_.

"Yeah." That was Thorin's voice. He didn't say it, but from the look on his face Dwalin could discern that neither of his family nor friends had gotten much sleep the previous night. He still felt the effects of what had to be a fever lingering in his body - his skin was hot to the touch and he felt weak like a newborn every single time he moved. It was rather disconcerting since the strength of his body was usually something he could completely rely on.

"Do you think you would be alright with travelling a short way?" Varna asked him. "The Rohirrim have offered us a protected place close to their settlement and have sent a cart to help us with the transport, so you do not have to move much."

"I'll be fine." Dwalin assured her, although he wasn't quite as sure as he probably sounded. Varna just raised her eyebrows, knowing her son all too well, but then gave a small nod. "We'll go and ready the cart then."

After a short moment of hesitation she added: "Thorin, if you could stay with him until we are done? Just to make sure he is truly fine..."

"Of course." Thorin was rather quick to answer. Varna nodded and waved at the rest of the family to come help her pack their belongings. She herself set out to make the cart comfortable enough for Dwalin to rest in on the way to the new place where they would put up camp for the next few days. Dwalin and Thorin watched the dwarrows for a few moments before Thorin turned back around to him.

"By the way, I rode a bloody horse because of you last night. You definitely owe me one."

"A _horse_?" Dwalin laughed but stopped immediately when the movement pulled at his wound. "Liar."

Thorin looked suitably insulted by the word.

"Just because you were too busy _dying_ whilst we were on the horses doesn't mean I'm a liar." Dwalin could hear an unexpected hurt in his voice and it took him a moment to puzzle out where it came from - it seemed like Thorin had been genuinely worried about him.

"Oy, no need to get so defensive." He ignored the aching in his side and lifted his arm to deliver a weak punch against Thorin's leg. "I believe you. And now stop looking so dour, or one might think I'd actually gone back to stone."

"Don't even joke about that." Thorin replied, but there was a smile pulling at his lips already. "You scared all of us more than you would believe last night. Don't do anything as stupid as that ever again, you hear me?"

"What, getting hurt in battle?" Dwalin teased. "Don't think I'll be able to avoid that entirely in the future..."

Thorin looked like he would have punched him back should Dwalin have been any healthier.

"Probably." he conceded. "But at least make sure that you don't cost us all a good night's sleep by threatening to die every moment."

"I'll try." Dwalin grinned. His stomach prevented any more conversation on the topic by grumbling loudly, making Thorin chuckle.

"We thought you'd be hungry when you woke up. You probably shouldn't be eating anything too heavy, but we all agreed that some broth might actually do you some good."

"No bacon?" From Thorin's expression Dwalin was sure that there must have been a look of utter disappointment on his own face.

"No bacon." his friend confirmed, barely holding back his laughter. "We finished it all earlier anyway. Come on, I'll help you sit up so you can get some food inside you."

Dwalin nodded. Thorin let him try to sit up by himself first before he began helping him with a gentle grip, knowing full well that Dwalin usually hated assistance of any kind or form. It was something he had to learn, too, Dwalin finally understood - that accepting help was not a mark of shame, but a sign of caring from those that he was dear to. Thorin helped him to lean back against the big pack behind him, his back bolstered by some more blankets and a rolled up bedroll. He wasn't sitting completely upright yet in order not to aggravate his wound, but at least he was in a position now where he could eat without spilling half the soup over his beard. He tried to stop his head from spinning whilst Thorin got up to get the last bit of broth they had been keeping warm over the embers that were still left of the night's fire.

Whilst Thorin was busy Dwalin looked around the camp - some ponies and dwarrows were missing, obviously having gone on ahead to scout out the new location for the camp and find the best way to get there. The others were currently packing up the last of their things, cleaning the ground where they had been and preparing the cart his mother had talked about. Thankfully they had saved the hides of most of the animals they had hunted whenever they had been in a usable state. Some of them they had turned into cloaks, some of them they had sold- but they still had enough pelts left to act as pillows on the cart.

Thorin didn't ask him whether he was fine when he returned, something for which Dwalin was absurdly grateful. However, he could feel his friend's gaze on him as he began to try and bring the spoon with the broth in it to his mouth. His arms began shivering from exhaustion quickly enough, and to his annoyance Dwalin spilled more of the soup than he was able to eat. Thorin watched him struggle for a moment, too proud to say anything, before he carefully gripped his friend's wrist to steady it and helped him guide the spoon to his mouth. Dwalin knew that Thorin would have let go should he have shown even a small sign of resisting him; but in this moment his hunger won over his pride, especially when he saw the soft glint in Thorin's eyes.

Thorin didn't say a single word throughout the entire process, but his grip was firm and warm on Dwalin's skin and soon they were done. Dwalin would have like to eat a lot more, but a small grumble of his stomach told him that it was probably better to be cautious for now. Soon enough Thráin, Lís and Gróin, who had been the ones riding ahead, returned, just as the other dwarrows had finished cleaning up their camp.

"There is a very good spot right outside the walls of their settlement that they said we could use." Thráin reported. His eyes lit up briefly when he saw that Dwalin was awake and sitting half upright. He gave him an obviously relieved nod. "Dwalin, are you feeling well enough that you think you can make the short journey there? It isn't far and the closeness of the settlement will offer us at least some protection. And since these are horselords, maybe some of us can be of use as smiths amongst them."

Thorin's eyes widened in surprise at his father's last words. A while ago Thráin would have never made the proposition to work for the men living here, no matter how much the additional money would be useful to them. That he did so now was a sign that Thráin had truly taken his son's opinion into account.

"I think I'll be able to make it, yes." Dwalin replied to Thráin's question. The crown prince nodded and gestured for the other dwarves to bring the cart closer so it would be easier for Dwalin to climb up on it. With his parents' help he somehow managed to get inside whilst Thorin and Balin were holding down the ends of the cart to make it easier for him to step in. Dwalin was unable to suppress a relieved sigh once he was sitting again, his wound already protesting fiercely against the movement.

Thorin reached up and squeezed his arm briefly before shouldering his pack and falling in line next to the cart as they made their way to the Rohirrim settlement.

*

Thorin was glad to see that Dwalin was awake again, if not fully alright yet. He could see his friend grimacing whenever the cart hit a bump on the way - it was better for him than riding on a pony or even walking, for sure, but still far from an even ride and Thorin made a quiet note ask Varna to help him check Dwalin's wound again for fear that some of the stitches might have ripped open on the way. Balin was riding on the cart together with his brother, guiding the ponies and making sure that Dwalin was at least a little comfortable. It had been disconcerting for Thorin to see Balin so out of sorts as he had been the previous night when they had woken him up to take over the watch - Dwalin's brother was usually the one who always kept a clear head even in difficult situations despite his obvious compassion. Last night, however...Thorin shook his head and sent another quick prayer to their Maker, thanking him that Dwalin had survived and was on the mend again. He didn't know how he would have coped with losing him and if he had to be honest, he didn't want to think about it either.

Hulda was waiting for them at the designated place for their new camp, several of the Rohirrim with her. It was the first time Thorin saw them from a close distance during daylight - when they had come to bring the cart earlier he had been busy preparing their food and watching over Dwalin. Many of them were tall with long hair, their clothes worn and functional, but clearly well-cared for. Their faces still showed traces of apprehension at the sight of this many dwarves, but none of them made any unfriendly comments. Thorin recognised Synne, the rider from the previous night, amongst them - she alone didn't seem to hold back, but was involved in a quiet conversation with Hulda.

Thorin nodded when he saw the area that had been designated for them - it was protected by both the walls of the settlement and a few outcrops around them, sheltering them from the worst of the wind that so often whipped across the plains.

"I hope your companion is faring better than last night?" Synne asked them as soon as they stopped and began to unload their saddle packs.

"He is." Varna gave her a nod stepped forward. "Our thanks to you for offering us this place. I hope those of yours that were wounded last night have recovered as well?"

A look of pain flickered across Synne's face at Varna's words, but she composed herself again quickly enough.

"One of them returned to the Halls of our Fathers last night. The others seem to be doing better, although at least one of them paid with the loss of a leg."

"Our condolences." Varna lowered her head for a moment whilst the others murmured their sympathies. The dwarrowdam exchanged a glance with her husband. "As people versed in mining, we are used to accidents resulting in the loss of a limb - if you are willing, we could share with you some of the knowledge about how to best fit and design an artificial limb, although I fear none of us could quite be considered experts in this field."

Thráin opened his mouth to say something and closed it again when he seemingly realised that this might not be the best platform for an argument between them.

"You have our gratitude." Synne replied with a small bow. "We would indeed welcome any help, not only with this but also with smithing - and of course pay for it as well. Should you need anything, do not hesitate to enter our settlement and ask."

"We will." Varna returned her gesture. Her gaze followed Synne until the rider and her companions were out of earshot, before she turned around and spoke to Thráin before he could say anything, thus curbing any further argument.

"We will give away none of our secrets." she told him. "But I am sure that these people will be grateful for at least some of the instructions we can give them."

Thráin's mouth was pressed into a thin line, but after a moment he exhaled audibly and just gave Varna a small nod. He had known her for long enough now that he could be sure her words would hold true; Varna carried as much pride in their folk as Thráin did, even though she might show it differently. She would never give any of their true secrets away.

They lost no time in erecting their camp, all of them helping whilst Dwalin was looking on from his seat atop the wagon. Thorin could see him shifting back and forth from time to time and he knew how uncomfortable his friend must be feeling to see all the others working when he was not. Dwalin usually strongly disliked not being able to help, no matter how bad he was feeling. As soon as they had erected a makeshift camp, Varna, Fundin and Balin helped Thorin to lift Dwalin off the cart. With one arm slung around Thorin's shoulder and the other around Balin's they helped him walk a few steps to the place they had prepared for him. Dwalin's teeth were clenched and Thorin could see his lips twitching in pain when they lowered him down into a seating position, but he didn't make a single sound.

Thorin could see how exhausted he was, however, and the realisation sparked more concern inside him before his inner voice told him that the weakness was only natural after the ordeal of the previous night and with his fever still prevalent, if low. He put a hand on Dwalin's shoulder and squeezed it gently, forcing a smile on his face that he hoped looked encouraging.

"Go and sleep a little more. We'll wake you for dinner."

Dwalin nodded and smiled back before he huddled under the bedroll. His eyes closed not much later. Thorin cursed quietly when he remembered that he had wanted to check on his wound and the stitches after they had come here, but so far no blood had been coming through Dwalin's clothes and so they decided to let him rest.

Varna came over to Thorin who was sitting not far from Dwalin and had begun sharpening his knife once all the tasks in the camp were done.

"I just talked to your father." she told him. "He had no objections when I told him I would like to go into the settlement to talk to the people there and ask them whether they have need of any of our services. He told me it would probably be good diplomatic practise if you came with me."

A smile flickered over her face at the last words before she continued.

"I'm sure Balin and my husband will be able to watch well over Dwalin in our absence and it will take our minds off the events of the previous night."

Thorin considered her proposition for a moment before he nodded and put his knife away. She and his father were right - it would indeed do him good to do something, especially now that Dwalin seemed out of immediate danger.

"Yes. Let's go then."

 

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ay, here we are with the next chapter! A lot of interaction between the dwarves and the men. And a sweet little surprise ;).

****

Varna was glad that she had proposed the short trip into the settlement. The other dwarves were busy setting up their encampment and Dwalin seemed well enough for now, sleeping soundly and snoring slightly. She resisted the temptation to card her hand through her son's hair like she had done when he had been naught but a young dwarfling; she didn't want to risk him waking up. Thorin's glances kept wandering towards him and the worry for his friend was still etched deeply into the lines of his face. Varna hadn't forgotten the look of utter panic in his eyes when Dwalin's blood had been on his hands, the same that had probably been in her eyes too and in that of the rest of her family.

She selected the tools they might need once they ventured inside, seeing Thorin do the same. Their tools were the most important thing to the dwarves, honed through many years of use and for most of them they were like an extended part of their own body. Since they always had them near, many of them had carried their tools with them when fleeing the mountain, one of the few memories of home they still possessed. Thorin was carrying his own satchel with the tools of his craft and after adding some provisions, they made their way towards the gates of the settlement.

The place was too small to be called a town, but larger than a mere village, with quite the number of little houses lining the muddy road that was winding through it. The love of the Rohirrim for their horses was prevalent everywhere - whittled decorations of horses on the buildings, faint whinnying in the air, the smell of stables around them and traces of hooves and manure on the road. Varna still felt rather intimidated by the large beasts. Thorin's expression told her that he was feeling the same as well, albeit a little less so since he had ridden one of them on the previous night, an experience that he looked like he didn't want to repeat anytime soon. Ponies were fine, but proper large horses...Varna shook her head. She'd leave the riding of those to those who were tall enough for it.

The streets were unusually empty when they walked through the settlement and Varna frowned. Had yesterday's battle taken away or incapacitated so many of their population? The reason for it soon became clear, however, when they walked across the marketplace in the middle and heard faint singing in the air. They continued quietly towards the source of the song before Varna stopped dead in her tracks, Thorin coming to a standstill beside her.

From their vantage point they could see the hills softly rolling further inwards towards the west. The singing was coming from their right and from here, the reason for it was apparent - the inhabitants of the village were in the middle of a burial. Two bodies lay on the ground on stretchers, wrapped completely in green cloth richly embroidered in white and gold. Varna remembered Synne's words from the morning, of how one of their warriors hadn't survived the night. She guessed that the other one must have died during the fight itself on the previous day.

It seemed like the entire settlement was present and Varna could well imagine that they all knew each other by name and family history here, something that had been impossible in Erebor with its numerous inhabitants. She and Thorin kept their respectful distance throughout the ritual and Varna felt almost like a spy, intruding on something that they weren't meant to see. Their funeral rituals of their own folk were always rather private ceremonies, not meant for the eyes of outsiders. She and Thorin resolved to wait on the market square of the settlement for them to finish where they would be of sight.

Either the ceremony did not take long or they had arrived towards the end of it since the sun hadn't travelled far on the sky when they heard the sound of people returning to the settlement. There was more than one pair of reddened eyes amongst them and most of the people were wearing dark clothes. They stopped as soon as they caught sight of the two dwarves in the market square and whispers were spreading amongst them as many were staring unabashedly. Varna swallowed and gripped her pack a little more tightly. She rather disliked being in the centre of so much attention, especially when it wasn't sure what most of them were thinking.

Finally two of them stepped forwards and Varna recognised Synne and the man she had introduced as Deorwine the evening before. Varna greeted her with a friendly nod.

"We have come to offer our services in smithing." she told them. "And to once more express our gratitude for your help. Varna and Thorin, at your service."

A smile appeared on Synne's and Deorwine's faces and that of a few people behind them who had obviously been part of the fight the previous night. Others, however, remained more sceptical, not quite knowing what to make of the two dwarves in their market square.

"The gratitude is all ours. These are some of the dwarves who helped us fight off the orc raid yesterday." Synne explained to them and at her words most people seemed to relax a little.

"Yes." Another man stepped forward beside them. The embroidery on his clothes seemed a little richer than that on those around him and he held himself with an air of command. "Without them we would probably have a lot more of our riders to bury today."

He seemed to notice the questioning glances Varna and Thorin were throwing him.

"My name is Alden." he told them. "I am the leader of this settlement. Synne has already extended our gratitude to you, but let me repeat it nonetheless."

"Our thanks." Varna nodded at him. "We brought our tools for smithing with us since we do not like to sit idle. As a settlement with such a number of horses we imagined you might have need of what we can offer. We are adept at all kinds of work, from shoeing horses to making weapons and repairing old farming and household equipment."

"Since there is only one blacksmith in the area and he is in the next settlement over we do indeed welcome your services." Alden nodded. "There are still remnants of the old forge left that our old blacksmith owned before he died - you are very welcome to use them for your work."

"Thank you." This time it was Thorin who was speaking and Varna nodded her agreement to his words. "We will set up shop there then and whoever is in need of our services is welcome to come by."

"Wait." Deorwine stepped forward. Varna looked up, wondering what he was about to say - the man looked like a capable warrior, but he also seemed rather young and shy from the way his fingers were unconsciously fiddling with the edge of his shirt. He took a deep breath, obviously intimidated by so many senior people around him listening to his words.

"My friend Oswyn was amongst those wounded yesterday night. Without your help, he and others would be dead now, too. As we are just about to have a meal in honour of those that have fallen, would you care to join us as a sign of gratitude?"

Varna and Thorin were both unable to completely hide their surprise, as were many in the crowd behind Deorwine. Varna had noticed the short hesitation before Deorwine had called Oswyn his friend, guessing that there was more to them than just friendship, but she decided not to comment on it.

"We would be honoured." she replied with a short bow in Deorwine's direction. "If your companions do not object, that is. We would not like to intrude on a private situation."

There was a moment of silence before the people behind Alden, Deorwine and Synne began talk to each other in whispers. Varna and Thorin waited patiently until a consensus was reached. Another woman stepped forward, obviously tasked with telling them the result of the short conference. Her greying hair had been bound into a braid that was pinned up high on her head and she wore a black dress with little ornamentation, her eyes rimmed red and her gaze heavy.

"My name is Willa. My husband Brecca was amongst those killed last night. I know that our sorrow would have been much heavier without you there and so me and most others are willing to support Deorwine's invitation in our gratitude. If you would like to follow us?"

It was clear from the looks of some of the people behind her that not everyone agreed with that decision and Varna could feel their distrust when the two dwarves fell in step between Synne and Deorwine. For now, however, they were being shielded by the warriors and soon enough Synne had involved her in a conversation. Varna was momentarily relieved but she knew that the conflict would come eventually and she hoped they would be able to convince the men that there was no need for animosity.

They entered a large wooden hall that Varna guessed served a variety of purposes from official assemblies to a venue for celebrations. Now the large table in the middle was decked with a variety of cold foods (it was tradition, Synne told her as she sat down next to her, that the first meal after a burial was always eaten cold). After a brief speech from Alden in honour of those who had fallen they began the meal.

Varna and Thorin tried to discern whether there were any particular rules they had to follow by watching those around them. Some of the dwarven feasts always followed firm rituals that did, for example, not allow the consumption of certain meats or prescribed a specific order in which things were eaten.

Synne soon noticed their glances and assured them that they could eat whatever they wanted although she showed them which foods were normally eaten together. After a moment of hesitation they dug in. The food was simple but delicious and Varna almost felt bad for enjoying such a feast when the others were outside and probably cooking their own meagre meals. She knew a meal like this would have been welcomed by all of them. Thorin seemed to be thinking the same, for as she looked over to him she saw how he was staring at the food in front of him, eating only little and probably picturing his little sister in his mind and how she would have delighted at everything on the table in front of them.

"Synne." Thorin's voice was quiet but firm when he addressed the rider sitting next to him, waiting until he had her full attention. He took a deep breath before he began voicing his request. "Do you think anybody would mind if we took some of the food that is not being eaten with us? The fares on the road have been meagre and I know our kin would welcome the addition to our usual meals. Of course we will pay you back for the food with our services."

"Of course!" Synne replied without hesitation. "I will have to talk to Alden and those who prepared the meal, but I am sure I can convince them to give you the leftovers."

"Our thanks." Thorin replied with a little nod of his head. Varna's heart ached when she was looking at him. He had been a proud prince before the fall of their home and although he had seldomly made use of his privileges he and everyone else herself included had taken many things for granted. That the descendants of Durin himself did now have to beg for scraps from the table of common men...it chafed at her even though she was well aware that there was no other way. At least Thorin had saved part of their pride by offering payment for what they were going to be given. She knew he would never have accepted anything else and neither would she. He was digging a little more heartily into the food in front of him now and Varna did the same after a short moment of hesitation. They had both given up their food for the sake of the rest of their family more than once before and it felt good to be able to eat a full share without having to worry about the others starving because they were doing so.

Soon the talk moved on to other subjects after the little interruption. Varna could see that Thorin was still holding back, saying little and observing instead although to most outsiders it would seem that his attention was occupied mostly by his food. Varna, on the contrary, made an effort to be part of the conversation, fuelled by sheer politeness as well as actual interest in the Rohirrim. She had never met any of the horselords before and only knew what the stories told about them which, if one went by what was being said about the dwarves in Middle-earth, did not mean much.

When she asked Synne, the rider promised her to introduce her to the one most adept at crafting in their settlement so she could help them with constructing an artificial leg for the rider who had lost his in the battle. After talking to Synne, Varna's attention quickly shifted over to Deorwine, who was sitting on her other side. Once again she marvelled at the differences in age between dwarves and men - as she had guessed, Deorwine was indeed very young and had barely reached his twentieth year. A dwarf at that age would still be considered a child and never been let out to fight.

"And your friend?" Varna asked him. "Was he badly wounded?"

Deorwine's movements still for a moment before he replied.

"Not that badly, no. But an orc sword got him at a bad place in his arm, cutting most of the sinews and injuring the bone, or so the healer told me. We don't know whether he'll ever be able to fight properly again."

Varna smiled at him reassuringly.

"I am sure he'll find a way to make his living, whether he can fight or not. Dwarves are often injured a lot throughout their lives. My own mother lost her arm in a fight against wargs and she continued to be a warrior and a skilled crafter until the end of her life."

Deorwine didn't quite look convinced, but he nodded at her words nonetheless.

"And the two of you are still quite young." Varna added with a smile. "I am sure your support will help him along."

She pretended not to notice when Deorwine blushed slightly at her words. In her heart she wished the two of them all the best for their futures, whatever they may hold.

When the main part of the meal was over, people began to mingle, although there was no celebratory mood in the air. The voices were still subdued and laughter was rare, reminding everyone of the occasion why they were assembled here in the first place. Varna saw Synne talking to Alden and the old man nodded at her words, immediately pulling a few of his people aside and telling them to pack the remnants of their meal so it could be given to dwarves. There was some angry mumbling at that, but still nobody spoke their dissent out loud, although Varna was sure that it was only a question of time until people would do so. Well, they had dealt with animosity from other people before, so they would this time as well.

Soon the food was securely packed and Varna offered to take it back to the dwarves camped right outside the settlement. The eyes of the men around her grew round when she politely declined their offer of help and shouldered the packs all by her own, packs that none of them would have been able to carry by themselves. Varna couldn't suppress a feeling of smug satisfaction welling up inside her at their astonished expressions. Not all rumours about dwarves were exaggerated after all, at least not the ones about dwarven strength.

"If you don't mind, I'll stay here, take a look at the forge and see that I can start our work already." Thorin told her when she turned around to see if he would come with her.

Varna nodded. She could see how it was now itching inside him to immerse himself in his craft; it had been far too long since they had been working in a proper forge and she could well understand his urge to get started on it now, especially since the task would take his mind of other things and help him cope with what had happened over the last few days.

"Yes." she told him. "I will go talk to the others and then come back to help you."

Thorin looked at her and gave her a small smile. Just before she turned to go he pulled out two small packets from his pocket and gave it to her.

"I kept some of the sweet little cakes that were on the table. They aren't as great as Ásta's cookies back in Erebor but I'm sure Dwalin would like them. Make sure you give him one of the packets, alright? The other is for Dís, Frerin and the other young ones."

Varna took the little packets from his hand and smiled.

"I'll make sure they get it." she promised him. It was an open secret that her younger son was the biggest sweet tooth of them all. She had seen Thorin pack the small cakes away earlier, choosing to only eat half of one of his share and saving the other two and a half. Very quietly she had slipped him a good part of her own portion, knowing he would save it for the others, too.

Thorin nodded at her with a grateful little smile before she made her way out of the little settlement back to the others again. The packs on her shoulder were heavy, but she was still in high spirits, humming quietly under her breath as she was walking through the muddy streets of the settlement. Her son had survived his first serious wound and was on his way to healing, they had found work and received some good food as upfront payment and, with Dunland just beyond the borders of Rohan, they finally had a goal in sight. Yes, they would make their way, of that much she was sure.

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, just in time within my one-month-limit of posting a new chapter xD. Life is rather crazy right now and the fact that I'm currently writing on three separate fics each day isn't really helping even though they all need to get done, of course. I hope you'll enjoy this one! It features some cuteness with Dwalin and Dis and Thorin having a not so fortunate encounter.
> 
> tw for in-universe racism

Dwalin didn’t even remember falling back asleep again, but the next thing he knew was his mother’s face as she bent over him, a small smile on her lips.

“Hey.” Varna greeted him softly. “How are you feeling, _inùdoy_?”

Dwalin took a moment to consider her question whilst he was returning to the land of the waking. The pain was less than before, but still occupied a large part of his mind and his head felt fuzzy from sleep and the medicine that they had given him earlier. He told his mother as much and her smile grew a little, obviously relieved that he was feeling better already. She helped him to sit up slowly so that he was in a more upright position where he could see more of the camp and what was going on around him. After a moment he frowned and turned back towards Varna.

“Where’s Thorin?” he asked her, suddenly worried that something might have happened to his friend.

“He’s fine.” Varna reassured him, immediately having recognised the reason behind her son’s worry. “We went to the settlement earlier and asked for work. Thorin remained whilst I came back to deliver some food we managed to acquire there. He asked me to give you this.”

She reached into one of her many pockets and pulled out a little package, handing it over to Dwalin. He took it with raised eyebrows, unable to think about anything that Thorin would want to give him that he could have acquired in the settlement during the relatively short time that they had been there if Dwalin was judging the passage of the sun correctly. Varna didn’t say anything else, but watched with a smile in her face as Dwalin unwrapped the little package.

Dwalin stared down at the two little cakes in his hand, barely able to rein in the hunger rising up inside him. He looked up questioningly at his mother, wondering where they could have gotten such a rare treat from. He hadn’t had anything sweet since the Iron Hills.

“We were invited to a meal by the people of the settlement and saved some of the dessert for you. The others have already had their share, so these are all yours.”

For a moment, Dwalin’s wound seemed to hurt much less as he gazed in wonder at the small treats. That Thorin would have thought of him like that...he felt something constrict inside his chest.

“Thank you.” he told his mother and if she saw the slight wetness in his eyes, she didn’t comment on it. He carefully lifted the first cake into his hand and took a tiny bite from it, closing his eyes in bliss as the sweetness travelled over his tongue. After months without treats he was fairly sure that this was the best thing he'd ever had and he felt a sharp pang of regret that Ásta, chief of Erebor’s kitchens and lost during the attack of the dragon, would never have the chance to taste this and make her own recipe from it.

“They are delicious.” he smiled up at his mother. “If you’re going back, tell Thorin thank you from me.”

He took care not to eat the second cake right now but save it for later instead, a small part of him regretting that they would be gone so quickly.

“I will.” Varna promised. Then she knelt down beside him. “We’ll have to check your wound now. We would’ve done it this morning after we arrived here, but we didn’t want to disturb your sleep, so...”

Dwalin nodded, although he wasn’t particularly fond of the thought of someone poking around on his body, especially so close to the settlement where some of the men might see him. Varna gave him a sympathetic glance before she called for Óin and Lís to help her and, at the same time, shield Dwalin from sight a little. Leaning against his mother, the others helped him with taking off his overshirt and then carefully unwrapped the bandages around his torso and the clean cloth that had been pressed on the wound between bandage and sewn-up skin. Dwalin hissed when they took it off, the cloth sticking to his side rather insistently.

He looked up to see Balin and his father plopping down next to him, one on each side. Fundin took Dwalin’s hand and placed it on his knee.

“Just squeeze, lad.” he said gently. “And keep breathing. “

Dwalin followed his father’s advice, adjusting his own rhythm of breathing to that of his family around him and squeezing Fundin’s knee tightly as Lís was cleaning the wound again and renewing a few stitches that had come loose. Her touch on his bare flesh was agony and more than once he thought he wouldn’t be able to bear it anymore, trying to suppress the scream working its way up through his teeth. His hand had to be putting so much pressure on Fundin’s knee that his father would surely have bruises the next day although Fundin wasn’t saying a single word of protest. Dwalin saw Balin averting his eyes after a while, unable to deal with seeing his brother in such pain.

It took him a while to realise that Lís was done and had rewrapped the bandages around his side, but then he sank back with a sigh, Varna rubbing his shoulders.

“It’s all over now.” she whispered gently and for a moment Dwalin was a young dwarfling again, feeling safe and secure in his parents’ arms.

“Your wound isn’t looking too bad.” Lís said with a smile, patting his arm. “I am no expert but I am sure that, with some time you will be back to being yourself. Just don’t overdo it in the mean time, you hear?”

“I certainly won’t.” Dwalin grumbled, grimacing as another movement he made pulled at the stitches of his wound. Lís chuckled and nodded at him, taking Óin with her to give Dwalin another moment alone with his family. For a while none of them said anything, all relieved that Dwalin would be healed.

“We’ve had lunch earlier, but we left you some of the lighter food.” Fundin remarked finally, giving his son a smile. “I’m sure it will help you to gain your strength back. Would you like some?”

Dwalin nodded. Although he wasn’t feeling very hungry right now, the after effects of the pain still too close, he knew that his father was right and hoped that his hunger would return as soon as he began eating. Varna and Balin helped Dwalin to find the position that was most comfortable for him and where he could lift his arms without too much trouble, when a high voice piped out, making them all smile.

“Is Dwalin better? Can I bring it to him?” Dís’ enthusiasm made her voice loud enough to be heard by everyone. Fundin’s deep rumble was more quiet and harder to understand, although it was clear that he must have said yes, since Dís whooped in delight and came running over with a large bowl in her hand.

“Careful!” Fundin called after her. “Or you’ll spill half it on the ground before Dwalin can eat it.”

Dís shouted something unintelligible back, although she slowed down at least a little, allowing Fundin and Frerin to catch up with her before she reached Dwalin.

“Are you hungry, Dwalin?” she asked him with large eyes once she was standing before him, only a little of the bowl’s contents having splashed over her clothes.

“I think I am.” Dwalin answered with a smile. Dís’ enthusiasm was always infectious and without her and his brother Frerin’s laughter he wasn’t entirely sure if Thorin would even be here now.

She grinned back and carefully handed him the bowl, plopping down on the ground next to him.

“Does it still hurt?” she wanted to know just when Dwalin had started eating and pointed at his side. Despite her youth, Dwalin saw no point in lying. She had seen the dead of Erebor and the pain and sadness that followed and although the whimpers in her sleep had lessened now, he knew that there was no reason to shield her from the world’s dangers anymore.

“Quite a bit, yes. But it’s a lot better than earlier.”

Dís cocked her head and frowned a little, before shifting slightly to be able to put her hand on Dwalin’s side. Dwalin flinched back although he stopped his movement the moment he noticed that her touch was rather gentle. Dís began humming under her breath only moments later and it took Dwalin a moment to recognise the song as one that Sigvór had sung to her children when they had been sick or hurt. Frerin breathed in sharply and Dwalin didn’t have to look up to see that there was wetness shimmering in his eyes before Frerin turned and looked away, the grief inside him suddenly as sharp and deep as on the first day that they had lost her.

“Are you feeling better now?” Dís asked him once she was done.

“A little bit, thank you very much.” Dwalin gave her a soft smile and ruffled her hair a little.

“You’re welcome.” Dís told him as she plopped down on his knees, watching as Dwalin slowly ate his lunch. Her eyes lit up when she looked at the tiny package next to him.

“Are those Thorin’s cakes?” she asked.

“Yeah.” Dwalin told her through a mouthful of food. He still didn't know when to eat the last one, wanting to savour their excellent taste for as long as he could.

“I have the best big brother in the world.” Dís told him earnestly and Dwalin gave her a wide smile.

“That you do.” he agreed with her whole-heartedly.

“Oy, and what about me?” Frerin butted in, acting insulted.

“You too. The bestest big brothers in the world.” Dís said after a little bit of thinking. “Although you haven’t brought me any cakes yet.”

“No, that I haven’t.” Frerin had to admit, sitting down next to Dwalin and his little sister. “But I’m still great, right?”

“Yeah.” Dís climbed over into her brother’s lap who immediately began untangling and re-braiding her hair, much to her enjoyment.

“Dwalin, your hair is all messed up.” she said after critically eyeing Dwalin’s appearance for a moment. There was a sound of suppressed laughter next to him and Dwalin turned his head only to see his mother covering her mouth in the attempt from trying to keep herself from laughing out loud. Balin was grinning next to her.

“She’s right.” he told his brother, escaping a well-aimed cuff from Dwalin’s elbow only a second later.

“Shall I braid it for you?” Dís asked him, already looking for the comb that every dwarf always carried with them somewhere in their clothes.

“If you would like to.” Dwalin granted her the request. Dís gave him her widest, happiest smile in response and although it took a while to arrange everyone so that they were comfortable and Dwalin’s wound wasn’t aggravated any further, Dís went to her task with swift little fingers. Dwalin closed his eyes and enjoyed her careful ministrations, the feeling of the comb tugging gently at his hair somehow speaking of home more than any physical location could.

*

Thorin looked around the old smithy and found it rather satisfactory. Some of the tools were too large for dwarven hands, sure, but that was why he had brought his own ones anyway. His first task was to sweep out all the dust and debris that had accumulated over time in the smithy and then sort out what material and tools he could still use and which ones would need to be repaired or could be molten down and used differently. Thankfully he found an old broom still leaning in one corner and after getting rid of the worst of the dust, the smithy still seemed to be in a moderately good state, even having some wood and coal in one corner that made it possible to fire up the oven. It felt good to do purely physical work for a change, the task keeping him from thinking about what had happened in the past few days too much, just like Varna had predicted it would. For a moment the tasks reminded him of the forges in Erebor, so large that it was impossible to see the other end of the hall amongst all the working people and with the sound of hammers never ending, even when it was the dead of night outside. Thinking of Erebor, however, reminded Thorin once again of those they had lost there and those that had escaped and quickly forbade himself from thinking about it any further.

He wondered briefly whether Dwalin had already woken up and Varna had been able to give him the little treats Thorin had saved for his friend. He wished he would have been there to see Dwalin’s and the others’ faces when he unpacked the little package he had sent him, but of course it was more important to get the forge going for now than anything else.

Thorin had just begun to bring everything into a working state when there was a knock on the doorframe outside. He had left the door open to get rid of the dust and let it some fresh air and he appreciated the fact that someone would be so polite to still knock rather than just stepping inside.

“Yes?” he turned around, smiling when he recognised Willa, the lady whose husband had been killed during the fight with the orcs.

“I have a set of knives that need sharpening and one of our horses should be re-shoed urgently - my husband was going to take both over to the smith in the next settlement in the next few days, but since everything has changed now...would you be able to do these tasks?"

"Of course." Thorin told her. "I will begin with the knives and as soon as my companion returns she can take the necessary tools and care for your horse, if you have that much time to spare."

"My thanks." Willa inclined her head and stepped inside to hand Thorin a bag containing a neatly rolled up set of all kinds of knives. "How much do you think will it be to get these sharpened?"

Thorin frowned and bent over the knives, looking at the work they would need and calculating how long it was going to take him to finish everything. Once he was done, he told her the price which Willa, to his relief, accepted with a nod and without a single comment. She left the knives with him and returned to her house and stables to wait for Varna and attend to the rest of her work. Thorin gave her the promise that he would have finished the knives very soon on the same day.

As soon as Willa had left he sat down to work on them, glad that he had found something new to occupy his hands and thoughts with. He had just finished the third knife when someone else stepped into the room, this time without knocking. Thorin looked up, but didn't recognise the face of the man standing in the doorframe, his body so tall that it blotted out almost all light coming from the entrance. Thorin stood up from his place close to the fire of the forge that he had begun to light earlier.

"Can I help you?" he asked, the politeness grating on his tongue. His senses already told him that this man wasn't here for another simple order like Willa had been.

"You are charging too much." the man said without preamble. Thorin simply raised his eyebrows, trying to control his own fiery temper.

"I charge what any decent smith would charge and a lot less than many." he replied. It was true - for such masters at their crafts as many dwarves were, the sum he had charged was largely underpaid. But although he was a great craftsman by human standards already, he wasn't a dwarven master smith yet and he knew that expensive prices wouldn't gain them any friends or fill their stomachs in the evening.

"I don't think a dwarf as young as you with barely a grown beard should charge the prices of a master. The smith in the other village takes the same, but he has been working for decades."

Thorin bristled at the man's accusations. He didn't want to disclose to him the dwarven customs of cutting your hair in grief and how his short beard signified his devastation at the loss of their home and so many dwarven lives. That he would one day find himself justifying his skill in front of someone like him...

"I have worked a forge ever since I could lift a hammer which has been more decades ago than you might think." he retorted sharply. "If anyone has complaints about the quality of my work I will deal with them when they arise."

The man seemed to be taken aback by the sharpness of Thorin's answer before he stepped further inside, his eyes narrowing.

"You think you dwarves can help us in a single battle against the orcs and that gives you the right to live here? To come and take away honest people's work?" The man spat out, barely missing Thorin's boots. Thorin wished for a moment that he was gripping his heavy smith's hammer or his sword so that he had a weapon should the man begin to attack him.

"Your settlement's leader himself gave us the permission to work here." Thorin threw back at him. "And there was no resident smith whose work we could have taken away. We will not stay forever."

"It would have been better had you moved on rather than staying at all." The man's voice had dropped dangerously low and Thorin recognised the period of calm that came before true rage. He remained where he was, careful to show that he wasn't intimidated at all by the intruder in his forge. However, his hand moved towards where the heavy smith's hammer was lying, feeling that there was no other way out of this confrontation.

"Are you thinking to fight me?" An ugly sneer crossed the man's face; of course he had noticed what Thorin was doing. "If you are so willing to shed blood, then be my guest. I doubt someone like you could best me."

Thorin growled, now giving up all pretense of remaining politeness and his fingers curling firmly around the hilt of his hammer. He would not stand to have the honour of his people insulted like this any longer.

 


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion to that mean little cliffhanger in the last chapter (no worries, I'm /nice/ for a change. Ha.) Also some family shenanigans and Varna introspection bc I love her to pieces!

Varna watched with a smile as Dís was beginning to braid her son's hair. The little dwarrowdam knew better than anybody else how to cheer up her friends and those she cared about and Varna could see how much Dwalin was enjoying her ministrations. It was good to see him smile like this - in a way, they all smiled far too rarely, for their grief would forever be part of their hearts. And, although few spoke about it, fear would forever be part of it, too - she had well seen how some of them, like Thorin and Thráin, would stay away from fire as far as they could without being cold, how a distant rumble could make Dís shout in fear and let others flinch because it sounded far too much like a dragon; how many smells and sounds could suddenly call back what had happened. They were all but powerless in face of their own fear. Sometimes mornings she still woke up with the taste of ash on her tongue, struggling to remember where she was and that they were safe now, or at least safe from the dragon.

With a small headshake Varna tried to chase the thoughts from her mind, although it was hard. She left her son to enjoy his time together with the others and returned to where she had put her bag with her tools away earlier. She didn't want to leave Thorin alone in the settlement for too long; of course he was very well able to handle himself, but she had been able to sense trouble brewing when she left and besides, it was always better to have more hands available.

"I'm going back to the settlement." Varna told Thráin before she left, making sure that at least one of their party was always aware of what every one of the dwarrows was doing.

"Yes, good." Thráin nodded, then he hesitated a little. "How is Dwalin doing?"

"It will take a while for him to recover." Varna told him. "But he's a lot better now. Your children are being of great help to him."

"Good, good." Thráin was obviously pleased at her words. She felt sympathy for him that he found it so much harder to express his emotions like some other dwarves did and would rather ask someone else after someone's wellbeing than the person directly. "And thank my son for sending us the cakes earlier."

"I will." Varna smiled at him, before she turned around, shouldering her bag. She hadn't forgotten the joy on Dwalin's face at the sight of the little treats, nor Frerin's, Dís' or that of any other of the dwarflings who had all shared the cakes amongst them and even given small pieces to all the adults.

Varna met few people on the streets on her way back - it seemed like everyone was busy with their day to day tasks now that the funerals and feast were over. She asked a passing Rohirrim for directions to the old smithy and promptly received them. Varna thanked the rider with a smile and turned her steps towards where she had been pointed. On her way she wondered idly what it would be like for men like the ones whose settlement she was just walking through to come to a dwarven settlement - with doorways that would be slightly too small for them, mining tunnels with too low a ceiling and furniture that they had to crouch upon to be able to sit.

She was ripped out of her thoughts when she rounded the corner to the where the smithy was supposed to be and heard shouting coming out of the half-open door. Varna frowned; both of the voices sounded angry and ready for violence, a combination that wasn't likely to end well. She stepped into the smithy just to come right into the middle of a beginning fight - Thorin had his heavy smith's hammer raised and the men standing opposite him had pulled out a knife that he was about to attack the dwarf with.

Varna didn't hesitate - with a quick movement, she dropped her bundle and pulled out her own battle axe without which she never left the camp, blocking the man's strike and trusting Thorin to change the course of his hammer in time which he narrowly managed. It drove into the edge of the anvil with a loud clang, sparks flying off from the edges that told Varna just how much force had been behind the blow.

The man whose strike she had blocked stumbled back, a look of surprise crossing his face. He recovered remarkably quickly, however, and was about to swing his knife again when Thorin gripped his arm, making him drop his weapon.

"I wouldn't." Thorin said quietly. "She's taught quite the number of people how to fight and I promise you, her anger is more vicious than mine can be."

Varna smiled a little at Thorin's words, aware that her fury was likely showing in her eyes despite being outwardly calm. She didn't know yet what had happened or led to the situation but it was clear that whatever it had been, it had almost led to a fight between the two standing in front of her. The man stared at her for a moment longer before pulling his arm out of Thorin's grip and taking a step back.

"What was this about?" Varna wanted to know, her gaze hooking onto the stranger's. She could still see the anger on both his and Thorin's face and sighed. She wasn't quite sure she'd get a straight answer from either of them at the moment, but she refused to let the issue go so easily. Varna knew that, if she hadn't come back in time, blood might have been shed with probably no small consequences for anyone involved.

"He said the rates I charged were too high considering I wasn't a master at smithing yet." Thorin spat out between his teeth. "Even though I am taking less than a true dwarven smith would want for his wares."

Varna lifted her hands to signal Thorin to calm down. The man opposite them narrowed his eyes at the latter part of Thorin's statement. To prevent him from saying anything else that might provoke them, Varna quickly returned a question in answer to Thorin's statement.

"How much did you ask and for what?" she wanted to know although she was fairly sure that Thorin would have charged a fair price for his services. He confirmed it a few minutes later and Varna nodded.

"That seems a fair price to me." she said. "In fact I have seen other smiths in different settlement charging about the same or even more. So what is your issue?"

"That, instead of sending us good smiths you have sent us a youngster who does not seem to be a master yet. It is an insult to my people."

Varna sighed and rubbed her forehead. Maybe they should have switched roles, with her staying here and Thorin heading back to the camp. She could feel a mirror image of Thorin's anger boil in her own chest and tried not to let it colour her words.

"Dwarven lives are different than human ones." she began to explain. "Many of the younger members of the smiths' guilds would be considered a master in human terms long before they gain that status among our people. We have longer lives and thus more time to train. It was never intended to be an insult to have Thorin here, his mastery of the art of smithing is at least as good as that one of a normal human smith."

The man snorted.

"Truly? That remains to be seen."

Varna was about to open her mouth again when the man shrugged and gave another derisive snort before he turned around and exited the small smithy. After he was gone, it seemed like an invisible weight had been lifted from them and Thorin took a deep breath.

"I'm glad you came." he said, his voice still trembling with suppressed anger from before. "I'm not sure what would have happened had he stayed, to be honest."

Varna nodded, frowning slightly. She knew better than to lecture Thorin on how they had to be careful and not let their temper and pride rule them; Thorin knew all of that well enough but he still had some of the natural rashness of youth left inside him that most dwarves his age possessed. And the man had provoked him more than enough, it seemed - she wasn't sure she would have been able to keep her own temper under control had she been in Thorin's place. Varna simply hoped the man wouldn't go around spreading bad rumours about them now.

"Willa was here earlier and she wanted one of us to come around and shoe one of her horses. I promised her you would do it whilst I was working on the order of knives to be sharpened that she brought by as well." It was clear that the topic was finished for Thorin for now and he had no desire to talk about it any further.

Varna nodded and grabbed her tools again, ready to go and help with shoeing of the horse. Thankfully, the dwarves in Erebor had quickly learned from the men in Dale how to shoe horses and ponies and had always had at least one dwarf accompanying each trade caravan that knew how to do so. It was a neat little skill that many of the dwarrows in the mountain learned even though they didn't make it into their main profession. After relaying the thanks of Dwalin and the rest of their travelling group to Thorin she left the smithy again to ask for the way to Willa's house.

The rest of the day passed more calmly than they had anticipated, with both Varna and Thorin working until dawn fell over the land. After Varna returned to the forge from shoeing the horse she and Thorin worked in silence together, only speaking when necessary and to take new orders when they arrived. To their surprise, there was no more enmity amongst the folks that came and once they had fulfilled Willa's order to her fullest satisfaction, more and more townspeople came to them with new orders. It seemed like a smith was urgently needed in these parts and Varna and Thorin found themselves shaking their heads over the state of a number of old tools, weapons and other objects that should have been mended long ago and were brought to them now.

"We should probably get back to the camp as long as there is still some light to go by." Varna remarked and Thorin nodded. Despite the friendliness of most of their customers and people here today they still remembered the ugly incident Varna had come just in time to avert and none of them wanted to be set upon in the darkness.

It had done them both good, the afternoon of work. Varna and Thorin were tired, but it was a good sort of exhaustion, one that came from doing a lot of work that their bodies weren't quite used to anymore. Thorin smiled tiredly at her when they were packing up, exhaustion written all over his face, but a lot calmer than he had been in the morning or, indeed, when Varna had returned.

They were greeted by the other dwarves with hugs and inquiries of how the day had went for which they could proudly show the money and goods they had earned already. Thorin went to greet Dwalin first after entering the camp again, smiling when he saw how much better his friend was doing already and obviously glad Dwalin had enjoyed the little cakes he had sent him so much. He also admired Dís' handiwork that showed in a multitude of little braids on Dwalin's head although he couldn't see his little sister at first.

"Thorin!" her shout went through the camp and Varna watched him turn around, raising her eyebrows as she saw not only Dís, Dori and Óin run towards him, but also three human children that she wasn't quite sure she'd seen before. Dís hugged her brother tightly before she turned around and motioned the others to come closer.

"These are Linn, Garyn and Taite." she told her brother. "We've been playing all afternoon! They showed Óin and me how to make a horse out of grass."

Thorin still looked slightly confused, not quite sure just as Varna was what the children were doing here.

"They came around earlier this afternoon all of a sudden." Fundin stepped forwards, pressing a quick kiss to Varna's temple as she stood close to her husband. "They were probably curious about us. Didn't take Dís long to convince them to play with her..."

"Thorin, at your service." Thorin inclined his head slightly to the children, a gesture that made Dís beam with pride. "Where are your parents?" he then wanted to know.

"They're working. But Momma said we could have the afternoon off, because of what happened with the orcs." The little girl that Dís had called Taite told Thorin. She seemed the one least intimidated by the adult dwarves. Varna was almost sure that she remembered seeing her before now, at Willa's side and she wondered whether Taite had truly understood yet that her father would never return.

"Shouldn't you slowly go back though?" Varna asked them gently. "It's getting dark now and I'm sure your family would be worried if you stayed out too long."

The children looked at each before staring up at the sky critically.

"We can help walk you back." Fundin offered, after having exchanged a gaze with his wife. Even though the gates weren't far they wouldn't feel good having young children such as these outside in times where the last orc attack had only been so shortly ago.

"I wanna come too!" Dís shouted and Óin and Dori echoed her sentiment after a moment of thinking. Varna looked over to Hulda, Thráin, Gróin and Lís who nodded after a moment. There seemed to be no harm of having the little dwarflings along when there were two dwarves to take care of them.

"Then we'd best not wait much longer." Varna suggested. Dís grinned and reached out to grab her hand which Varna let her take with a small smile. Since Sigvór's death Dís seemed to becoming more and more attached to Varna and her family additionally to her brothers. Sigvór hadn't only been the queen and a mother, however - she had also been one of Varna's closest friends and often she missed her headstrong and lively presence, feeling guilty for having the affection of her children turn to her so much now that she was gone like so many others of their people.

"She'd have wanted you to take care of them." Fundin had told her one evening when she had quietly told him of her feelings. "I'm sure she'll be thankful, not jealous, for what you are doing. And you're not usurping Sigvór's place, you're only giving comfort and help where it is needed."

"I know." Varna sighed. "Still. It feels...wrong at times. I guess I just wish she were still here with us, like all the others."

"We all do, _kurdel_. We all do." Fundin had leaned on her, his own thoughts heavy with the memories of those who had perished in dragonfire and destruction. It was moments like these that Varna would say a quiet prayer to their Maker for at least leaving her husband and two children alive.

Varna shook her head and smiled a little at the memory of Fundin's warmth at her side, reciprocated now that he was walking so close to her again. After they had safely delivered the children to the gates of the city they told them that yes, they could come back the next day if they wanted to do so, but only if they asked their own parents for permission as well. Varna didn't want to start any unwholesome rumours that they were stealing the people's children from the settlement. When they returned to their own camp it was already dark and the smell of dinner that was being cooked was wafting through the air. The dwarflings ran on ahead to unite with their parents and siblings, Dís jumping on Thorin's lap as he was sitting next to Dwalin and Frerin. Thorin and Frerin's look of almost panic before they recognised their sister wasn't lost on Varna and she felt a sting in her heart, knowing that it reminded them of battles against orcs and raiders in the dark.

"Thorin, your hair looks terrible! Just like Dwalin's earlier!" Dís announced, pulling a face as she tried to card her small hand through her brother's locks.

"Don't try and escape it." Dwalin grinned and elbowed Thorin slightly in the ribs. "She'll follow you everywhere and insist on combing and braiding it. Best get it over with."

Dís pouted in response to his statement whilst Frerin laughed out loud. As much as he loved his siblings, he would never be opposed to teasing either of them.

"Yeah, I can confirm that. She's a little menace, that she is." he said out loud, followed by Dís' shriek of 'LIAR!' as she threw herself at him, ensuing in a scuffle of laughter and limbs on the ground. Thorin tried to scrabble out of the way, but only succeeded in falling halfway across Dwalin who couldn't hold back a quick groan of pain. Thorin wheezed a quick Sorry in his direction before trying to shove his siblings aside so they wouldn't accidentally hit Dwalin or him. Dís seemed to be the winning one, sitting right on her brother's stomach and tickling him until he was breathless with laughter. The image made Dwalin and Thorin laugh, too, although Dwalin grimaced and held his side when the laughter kept pulling at his stitches.

Varna only shook her head, smiling widely. It was good to see that, despite everything, there was still so much joy to be found in their midst.

 


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some levity before this part of the journey ends!

After a few days at the camp outside the settlement a shadow of strange normality seemed to settle over all of them. Dwalin was healing slowly but surely and after a week he was already able to take his first slow steps by himself through the camp and help with all the tasks that didn't require overly strenuous physical work. Hulda used the opportunity to teach him the basics of sewing and how to quickly repair rips and tears in their garments. Whoever had the turn at cooking would ask Dwalin to help chopping what needed to go into their large pot and Fundin would spend time with his son to show him the best way to sharpen all the different weapons and tools they possessed. All the dwarves of their travelling group knew that it was a good thing to keep Dwalin occupied, for he was already growing restless as soon as the pain wasn't at the forefront of his mind anymore. If there were no more tasks to be done it was usually the dwarflings and children of the settlement who involved him in one of their wild games.

The little smithy in the settlement was now not only manned by Thorin and Varna but also others in their group who had the abilities that were needed. In return, the dwarves were given the payment that they wanted and they used it to buy the things that they needed from the local farmers. Additionally, they were taught much about horses and how to deal with them, something that soon came in useful when they were not only commissioned for shoeing them but also for repairing old bridles and saddles and fitting new ones to the large horses that were often nervous due to the unaccustomed smell of the dwarves.

To everyone's surprise it quickly emerged that Frerin had the calmest hand with them and soon most horses in the settlement seemed to be used to him, whereas Thorin still stayed deeply mistrustful towards the large beasts, still not having forgotten the time when he had been forced to ride on the back of one. To the children in their encampment the dwarves' fear of horses was something bringing forth both fascination and ridicule. Many of them had learned to ride as early as they had learned how to walk and it didn't take long for them to teach the dwarflings in the camp how to at least ride some small ponies.

Balin shook his head as he watched Dís holding on to her pony's neck with all her might as she was galloping in a circle around the other dwarflings and children, with Frerin standing nearby to keep watch that nothing would go amiss. With the permission of the adults the children had brought out their own small ponies that were used to the weight of the tiny bodies on them and of very calm temperament. It was good to see that the young ones were having time to play again; the forced break thanks to Dwalin's injury was doing them all good.

They were still not entirely welcome by everyone in the settlement, although after the incident in the forge on the first day they had taken great care not to give any reasons for anybody to complain. Balin had shaken his head at that and thought that when people wanted to find something to complain about they certainly would, no matter what the dwarves did or didn't do. He was as surprised as everybody else when the animosity consisted only of angry glances as they were walking through the settlement or occasional people turning them down when they wanted to purchase something.

The majority of folk, however, had been intrigued when they had finally convinced themselves of the quality of the wares and services that the dwarves were offering and soon all of them who were working at the forges had found themselves with more orders than they could handle alone. Blacksmiths had truly been sorely needed in the settlement and there was more than one person who expressed regret at the fact that the dwarves would have to move on eventually, especially before the next winter came. None of them wanted to be caught up in snow before they hadn't moved a little further south and reached Dunland where they might be able to settle for a while.

As soon as Dwalin's condition had improved enough for him to be able to travel they made plans to continue their journey. First, however, they would fulfil all orders that the people in the settlements had given them, even if it meant staying for a few days longer, much to everyone's relief. Like they had begun, it was Varna and Thorin who finished the very last of orders and so they remained behind in the settlement whilst the others were slowly beginning to order everything in the camp for their departure the next day, thinking about what else they would need to buy before they headed off again.

Balin waved over to Frerin who was still keeping a watchful eye on the ponies and children after casting a critical glance at the sky.

"It will be getting late soon." he called out towards the youngster. "The ponies should probably get sent back to their stables before it is time for dinner."

A chorus of disappointed voices rose at his announcement and all the children looked rather stricken.

"But we wanted to play a bit longer..." One of the human girls said, looking up a Balin with huge dark eyes. Balin shook his head sadly, although he found it hard to do so.

"Your parents will worry if you aren't back in time." he told her. Although they had become a little more relaxed he still didn't want to risk any wrath from the children's parents for bringing their offspring back late.

"But Ma said we could stay until they co-" The girl began until another one's hand snaked around her and pressed her mouth closed.

"Ssssshhhhhh! Ma said not to tell anybody, it's supposed to be a surprise!"

Balin lifted his eyebrows. A surprise? He wondered what it could be - maybe it was one of the children's name- or birthdays today? Just as he was about to try and pry a little more deeply, a shout rang out through the camp, coming from the settlement. Everyone turned and was surprised to see a large portion of the townspeople coming their way, their arms laden with things that they couldn't quite discern from so far away. Balin saw how a some of their own travelling group looked nervous, Thráin's hand sneaking towards his weapon until it became clear that none of those approaching had any bad intentions.

Indeed it soon emerged that the contrary was the case. Synne and Alden were the first ones to arrive in their little camp, Synne waving at them with a bright smile on her face. Balin could see Thorin and his mother amongst the people, looking almost excited.

"We heard that you were leaving tomorrow." she told the dwarves that were soon clustering around her. "And as it is custom with our folk, we decided to send you away with a true feast, so that your stay with us might remain positively in our mind."

To everyone's surprise, it was Thráin who stepped forwards with his father and gave a brief nod of his head.

"We thank you for your hospitality." he said. "Be welcome at our fire and enjoy the protection that our temporary home offers you." The words were a variation of the traditional dwarven guest welcome in Khuzdul, adapted to their current situation. Even if, Balin thought sourly, the people would probably enjoy more protection inside their own homes than here outside with the dwarves. Still, the symbolism wasn't lost on the Rohirrim and Alden inclined his head, obviously slightly touched by the sincerity of the dwarven welcome. Balin saw well that not all people of the settlement had joined in, but there were still far more than he would have expected.

The young dwarflings were quickly taken by their hands and pulled towards the childrens' parents. Soon enough they had lost all shyness when faced with the people of the town and were quick to chat and take the sweets that they were being offered. With so many hands to help the feast was quickly set up as some helped built up the fire for the pig that had been slaughtered for this evening and pre-roasted already so it only had to be heated up and the other were setting up the rest of the food on various small tables and blankets around the fire, putting torches in the ground that would light the area later when it was night. Synne told them that their patrols had not seen any sign of orcs many leagues around the settlement so they hoped they would be able to pass the night undisturbed.

Soon enough the first barrels of ale were being opened and mugs passed around to everyone who was old enough to drink. Balin accepted one with a smile and watched with a little laugh how Dwalin plopped down on a seat next to Thorin, looking rather satisfied with his own mug in hand. They toasted each other with a grin and Balin was reminded of how long it had been since he had seen them and the rest of his family and friends smiling and feasting like this. It had to have been at one of the large feasts for Lord Girion to celebrate the good trade relations between Erebor and Dale that had taken place shortly before the dragon had come. There had been little joy during the feasts in the Iron Hills, loss and fear still weighing heavily on their minds. Even now the voices were still more hushed than they could have been and the lines on everyone's face harsher than before.

If anybody of the settlement noticed, they didn't comment on it. Instead the roast was being set up and soon the first portions of food were being handed out much to everyone's delight. When everyone was sitting around in a circle with both food and drink flowing aplenty, Alden was the first of the men to directly talk to Thráin. Balin was concentrating on the food in front of him but listened to what they were saying - thanks to the drink Alden's voice was being rather loud, anyway.

"So where are you thinking of going once you leave here?" he wanted to know. Thráin stiffened at little at being spoken to so directly but answered after a moment.

"Dunland." he told the head of the village. "We were told there was enough wilderness there not to come in conflict with anyone should we attempt to settle there."

Alden thought about his answer for a moment before he nodded.

"Yes, it seems a wise course, although there are wild folk in the hills there that you should take care not to anger and orcs in the mountains." After a pause, in which he frowned, Alden continued. "So you are seeking to settle somewhere then? We had all assumed you were part of a trading caravan..."

At that, silence suddenly settled over the assembled dwarves.

"No, we are not." Fundin took over from Thráin after a small nod from the prince whose knuckles went white as his hands were clenched around his mug of ale.

"We are on the search for a new home after the old one was taken from us." Fundin said quickly, as if the speed with which the words were being said would somehow make them less painful. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Alden inclined his head quietly.

"My apologies." he offered. "Please accept my sympathies for your loss. I hope that you will find what you are looking for in Dunland."

"Synne!" he called out to the rider who they had talked to most in the course of the last few days. She nodded and came over to him. "You have been down to the gap of Rohan, have you not? We should still have maps of the area down there that will make it easier for the dwarves to find their way."

"I have." Synne nodded. "I believe there still are one or two copies of the map encompassing all of Rohan that the mapmaker gave us on his last travels through here."

"If you have such a map we would be glad to pay you enough coin for it as you deem it worth." Thráin said. Namara and Arathorn had given them a sketch of the areas towards Dunland but to have a map from a true cartographer would prove even more useful, he knew.

"There will be no payment needed." Alden told him with a small smile. "We would be glad to give it to you as a present so you might find your way through our country unhindered. Take it as a token of thanks for your help against the orcs and the good wares you delivered at the forge - and for taking care of our children." he added with a widening grin with a look at where the dwarflings and children of the settlement where sitting together.

Thráin inclined his head in thanks, obviously not having expected such generosity. Balin was glad that he would accept the gift they had been given and hoped that it would make the coming journey easier for them. As the two kept talking, his gaze wandered over the rest of the people that were assembled by the fireside.

Deorwine and Oswyn were both there, Oswyn still with his arm in a sling although Balin had been told by Varna that they believed he should regain at least partial use of it. From the way that Deorwine supported him it was clear that the two of them were more than just friends and that he would care for him come whatever may. Oswyn seemed disinclined to accept any aid, however, somehow reminding Balin of young Thorin who had insisted on walking around without any aid even after spraining his ankle after an accident with the battle goat he had been learning to ride. He had shouted at everyone who had wanted to help him, much to his family's and Dwalin's dismay.

As he looked at the assembled people, both dwarves and men, Balin wondered if they would find such friendly reception everywhere they went or whether the coldness and mistrust they had seen in other parts of Middle-earth would prevail for the rest of their journey. He was ripped out of his musings by a hand that slammed down on his shoulder so strongly that he almost spilled part of his drink.

"Why so glum, brother?" Dwalin asked as he let himself fall to the ground next to him, affectionately bumping his shoulder once more. Balin sighed and felt a little smile return to his face as he look at his brother's grinning face. Dwalin's laughter was often contagious.

"Not glum, just thinking." Balin replied and toasted with his mug in Dwalin's direction.

"Then you should stop thinking, because it makes you appear glum." Dwalin teased and Balin narrowed his eyes before he felt compelled to grin back.

"And you should stop talking, brother, before you find an axe in your groin one day."

Dwalin just laughed loudly in reply, slapping his brother on the back until Balin once again spilled some of his ale.

"So what _were_ you thinking about?" he finally asked Balin after he had calmed down again.

"The rest of the journey." Balin admitted. "It feels strange having such a firm goal now and knowing where we're going. It's like going home and yet it's not anything like that at all. Because there is no home anymore."

Dwalin looked down at his hands and the rest of ale in his mug for a moment before he replied. Something had changed in his gaze although there was still a spark of mirth in his eyes.

"But we're all here." he said, his gaze wandering over the assembled dwarves before it came to rest on Thorin and then Balin again. "And that is what counts. Home can be everywhere if you have those you love with you."

Balin raised an eyebrow, unused to hearing such rather sentimental words from his boisterous brother. He had well noticed how Dwalin's gaze had flickered back to Thorin during his last words. Maybe it was the ale that had prompted such a spill from him. For a moment Balin envied him - he still missed the mountain itself keenly, its walls echoing with the laughter and songs of their people, the business of the great forges and the busy silence of the library and reading rooms. And as happy and lucky as he was to still have all of his family with him he would still give much to see the mountain restored to them.

He smiled at his brother and was about to reply when a shout rang out from the other side of the large fire. They both turned their heads to see Frerin standing up, tankard in his hands and taking a deep breath before he began singing an old dwarven song. From what they gathered later it had been a wager between some of the riders and the young dwarf that there were no dwarven songs bawdier than those of the Rohirrim and evidently Frerin set out to disprove exactly that.

It didn't take long for Hulda to snatch Dori and clamp her hands over his ears, her face slowly colouring red. Thorin had rescued Dís before she could hear the finer details of what the miner's son did with the broomstick but from Óin's far too fascinated expression he hadn't been so lucky, just as some of the other children running around.

The group dissolved into laughter quickly enough and there was the call for more ale, even as Thorin looked like he wanted to sink into the ground with shame. At least Thráin was still too busy to talk to Alden and his own father to notice what his son had done and so Frerin was spared any scolding from his side.

They drank and celebrated until late into the night and over time Balin felt some of the trepidation inside him for what was to come lessen. He firmly told himself that he would enjoy this one night of piece and joy before they would be back on the road tomorrow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frerin being the one who really likes horses is ofc a little friendly wave in Matty's direction ;).


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was time to push this story forward a bit! \o/ Dunland, here we come.

They all felt that the next morning was coming far too soon and there was more than one groan in their camp as they were all slowly roused from sleep, woken up by the shouting of the little dwarflings who were the few ones amongst them that were _not_ hungover. Thorin groaned and tried to pull his blanket over his face as Dís began to pull at his hair and shout as loudly as possible for him to _get up, look, the sun is out already, come ON THORIN_ \- . He wondered if he could get away with pretending to be passed out when a second voice joined his sister's, musing if maybe they could wake Thorin in a different manner. When understanding finally dawned in his head it was too late - Frerin had already pushed his brother's blanket aside and begun tickling him with fervour, Dís shrieking in delight and soon joining in as well.

Thorin had no choice but to try and bat his siblings' hands away, complaining loudly even after he had managed to sit up, the strands of his hair falling all over his face in wild chaos. As he looked around himself he saw that most of the other dwarves had woken up as well and judging from their less-than-impressed expressions the ruckus he and his siblings had created had played quite a role in it.

Since they had packed most things in the night before there wasn't overly much to do for them before their departure, although they all opted for a hearty breakfast before they would go on the road again. Much to their surprise almost all of the townspeople came out to bid them goodbye and Synne, Deorwine and a few other riders that belonged to the settlement were on their own horses, offering to accompany them part of the way as part of their own patrol around the settlement's wider area. Thráin took them up on their offer with a nod of his head that was a lot lower and more respectful than when he had first met the townspeople and offered them the promise that should they ever pass by again with a trade caravan they would make sure to stop here.

At first, the dwarves were unused to the weight of their own packs on their shoulders again even though the heaviest items were still carried by their ponies. It was strange being on the road once more, Thorin thought, after spending so much time at the same place. It reminded him that, despite the friendships they had formed and adversities they had encountered they were still a people without home, with no place to return to like those they met.

In the early afternoon the riders bade them goodbye to branch off northwards on their patrol and the dwarves made their way through the country alone, relying on the map that Synne had given them with Alden's blessing and hoping that they would be able to find their way towards Dunland without further trouble.

Although the weather slowly grew colder with more frequent showers of rain travelling was still rather comfortable and on the wide grassy plains of Rohan any enemies were easy to spot, making for more relaxed travel than through the denser forests in the north. As they were making their way westwards, after a while they could make out the shape of the mountains in the West that were the southern edges of the Misty Mountains. The day that Balin first spotted them they all felt relief in their hearts - the familiar sight of mountains instead of simple flat planes with no boundaries wherever their eye travelled did them all good and they could feel their hearts swell at the impression of bare rock and snow on the icy tops of the mountains. Their pace quickened on its own and they relished the sight of the peaks coming closer day by day, unless they were covered by clouds.

Thorin was staring up at the grey wall that hid the mountains from sight again one evening when Dwalin plopped down next to him with a little grin on his face and held out a small bag in his direction. Thorin frowned at first before he took it and recognised from the smell of it that it had to be pipeweed.

"Where'd you get that from?" he asked Dwalin incredulously. He was fairly sure that by now they'd used up all the pipeweed they had brought along from the Iron Hills.

"The last settlement we went past." Dwalin shrugged. "Did some extra work there. I have no idea what this stuff tastes like, but better than nothing, no?"

Thorin laughed and had to agree.

"Now, you want some or not?" Dwalin asked, shaking the bag at him impatiently.

"Of course." Thorin reached out and after pretending that he was going to snatch away the bag again and again Dwalin finally surrendered it with another laugh. Thorin elbowed him in the ribs before shaking his head and beginning to dig for his pipe within the folds of his clothes. Dwalin mirrored him, a frown on his face as he seemingly was unable to find his own pipe. He cursed.

"I must have lost it at some point." he said with a rather crestfallen face. "Maybe during the battle when I was injured..."

Thorin winced slightly as Dwalin's words reminded him of just how close his best friend had come to dying. Without hesitation he held out his own pipe in Dwalin's direction in a mirror gesture to the one from many months ago.

"Here, you can take mine." he offered him. Dwalin's eyes widened for a short moment before he reached out, hand stopping shortly before the pipe.

"You sure?" he asked. "I know your Ma did the engravings on it..."

"Yeah, of course. As long as you give it back undamaged..." Thorin smiled. Dwalin mirrored his expression and bumped his shoulder affectionately before he carefully took the pipe from his hand and began stuffing it with the weed from the bag that Thorin was holding open for him. He took extra care as he lit the pipe, enjoying the smell of smoke filling his nostrils long before he took the first deep pull from it. They sat in comfortable silence as they smoked, taking turns.

Thorin coughed quietly when he first tasted the foreign leaf and frowned slightly.

"What a strange taste." he mused. "Not bad though."

Dwalin had to agree - it wasn't necessarily a bad taste, but a different one that they weren't used to.

"We're far from home, aren't we." he said all of a sudden and it was such an unusual sentence for him to say that Thorin immediately looked up at him, frowning.

"I don't know." Dwalin tried to explain. "It's...I don't think I've realised it until now, but everything is different. The mountains don't look right. The rock isn't what we're used to from home or even the Iron Hills. The people are different. And now, even the pipe weed is different..."

Thorin nodded and suddenly understanding blossomed inside him. Many people thought that leaving home was a series of goodbyes, of subtle changes that happened now and then, but he knew better, having experienced the same not long before that Dwalin did now - as long as your heart didn't understand that things had changed, no yelling from their minds would help to comprehend it. For him it had been the food at the feast the people of the Rohirrim settlement had invited them to - nothing was quite like it used to taste for him. That was the moment he had understood that there was no going back, that they were further from the mountain than ever before and might not ever return. He knew there was little consolation once someone had arrived at that point, so he just murmured a small agreement and put his hand on Dwalin's arm, squeezing lightly to give him some comfort as his friend grappled to come to terms with what he had just said.

Thorin offered him the pipe again and Dwalin breathed in deeply, obviously trying to calm himself and staring in the direction that he knew the Misty Mountains were in, although they were invisible in the now descending darkness.

"What do you think Dunland is going to look like?" Dwalin asked him after a while. Thorin frowned and thought about his question before he answered.

"I hope there are caves there, although I doubt they will be without inhabitants. Maybe it'll be easier if we just settle on the mountainside somewhere so we can begin mining..."

Dwalin nodded in agreement.

"Maybe we'll be able to establish trading caravans with the Iron Hills or other places. That way we could also get our good pipeweed again..."

Thorin chuckled at his wistful tone when his friend lamented the lack of good pipeweed. Both of them longed to settle down somewhere by now - as dwarrows, they were always connected to the rock and stone they had grown up in and being without a home felt like being without an anchor, as if all their roots had been taken away. He longed for the feeling of stone all around him again, a firm ceiling over his head and the safety of a mountain embracing him.

"Hopefully." he agreed with his friend. "I'm sure the ponies wouldn't be the only ones who won't mind some rest as well."

They both gazed over to where their ponies were standing for the night. Since it had emerged that he had a hand for horses, Frerin was the one mainly responsible for their care and they had started blossoming under his careful hand, a lot livelier now than they had been before. Frerin obviously seemed to enjoy his new task and the other day he and Dís had attempted to ride one of them under Thráin's disapproving glance. It made Thorin miss the goats he and Dwalin had learned to ride back at the mountain - they had both never been the best riders, but it had nevertheless been a fun pasttime and they had attempted sparring on the backs of their animals more than once. Maybe, once they had established a settlement somewhere one day they would be able to train their young ones on goats again and even raise a few ravens...

Dwalin carefully bumped his shoulder, ripping Thorin out of his thoughts.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, looking at Thorin's face and then the trail of smoke rising into the night sky around them.

"That it'll be nice to finally stay in one place for a while again." Thorin answered truthfully and Dwalin nodded.

"Do you think we'll be able be able to make a living in Dunland? Like Frór's people did in the Iron Hills?" he wondered out loud and Thorin could only shrug in reply.

"I don't know." he replied honestly. "For some reason I imagine it a lot like Erebor just with more...mountains."

Dwalin chuckled at the latter bit. Apart from the Iron Hills which were more like highlands than mountains, neither of them had ever seen true mountain ranges like the Misty Mountains or the Grey Mountains in the north that Thrór had come from when he had returned to Erebor with their folk. They had always heard the tales of course - of mountainsides so steep nobody could climb them, numerous snow-topped peaks that had nothing but ice and rock and between them and veins of riches in the roots of the mountains whose beauty would make every dwarf's heart ache to set their hands to and use it in their craft. All young dwarves longed to see the beauty that was often talked about - yet Thorin would have swapped the prospect of it all for one more day back in the halls of Erebor.

"Maybe we will be able to do mining there." Dwalin seemed to have read Thorin's thoughts. "If we find a good enough spot, I believe that many of those still in the Iron Hills will follow us there. Who knows, maybe with enough time left...we might even be able to establish a new place for us."

Suddenly Dwalin started grinning.

"Maybe, in hundreds of years, the great-grandchildren of our kin will still talk about us, the ones who originally settled here, the big founders of a new dwarven kingdom. Young dwarflings will have to learn about us in their history books..."

Thorin shook his head and laughed.

"In that case I think it's more likely that they'd hate us than anything else. Remember all the names we had to learn?"

Dwalin joined in with his laughter when they thought of all the tedious lessons where they'd had to memorise the name of one famous dwarf after another.

"You and Balin always had a knack for that though." he said ruefully. "I could never quite get them in my head."

"No, but _you_ were the one who could recite every battle ever fought and who went against whom and why." Thorin grinned, remembering well how Dwalin had always been a never ending source of new interesting tidbits of information about dwarven wars and battles. It had always astounded him how Dwalin, who had so little patience most of the time, had suddenly been able to bury himself in a volume of battle accounts from thousands of years back. Dwalin shrugged at his remark and tried unsuccessfully to hide the little proud grin flickering over his face.

"Because these things were actually _interesting_." he muttered, as if he wanted to defend himself. Thorin laughed again, swept away by the memories of their childhood for a moment before he continued talking.

"I wonder if Smaug will ever leave the mountain and we will return." he said suddenly. There was something inside him that was hard to define, a deep-seated longing to return to their homeland at one point and see the green walls of Erebor once more before he died. It was more than simple home-sickness, but something that he had almost no control over and that seemed to be pulling him back towards the mountain. He knew instinctively that this longing would never vanish for the rest of his life and that at one point, may it be in ten years or a hundred, he would give in to it and return.

"I doubt it." Dwalin replied. "I don't think dragons are known for leaving their hoard behind."

Thorin looked over to his friend and wondered how the words could come over his lips so easily. Dwalin seemed to notice that he had said something that Thorin deemed rather strange and smiled a little.

"Although I would follow you into Mordor itself if that's what you'd decide to do." The loyalty and warmth in his eyes almost twisted Thorin's heart.

"I-" his voice faltered and he wasn't sure how to reply. He felt unworthy of such trust and friendship, not sure what he had ever done to earn any of it. Dwalin just smiled and squeezed his arm, knowing him well enough to know what was going on inside Thorin's head right now.

"Thank you." was all that Thorin finally managed to say to him and Dwalin's smile widened as he gave him a nod.

They finished off their pipe in amiable silence until Dís came running over to them, clambering on Thorin's knee and demanding she could have a go at his pipe. Thorin laughed and denied her the request on grounds of being far too young for it yet which sent his little sister pouting in a fit of bad mood that only Frerin managed to lighten up when he asked for her help in chopping up some more vegetables for their dinner. Thorin looked after them and wished he could hold them close to him forever even though he knew that time would eventually change them all, for better or worse.

They crossed over the Gap of Rohan with little incident a few weeks later, although the tracks on the often muddy ground showed them that not only riders and other Rohirrim used this path and they got warier as the journey went on, doubling their lookouts at night again although for now their sleep remained undisturbed. In the end it wasn't orcs attacking them but Dunlendings, the wild people of Dunland who had an eye not so much on riches but the dwarves' pmoies and supplies. The Dunlendings quickly withdrew, however, when they were faced with the ferocious fighting of the dwarves, obviously not having expected them to battle with such fierceness.

All within their travelling group seemed to be drawn towards the mountains as if by an invisible string. The increased sight of bare stone and promise of new lands and rock to discover drew them all towards the Misty Mountains. As dwarves they had always been able to easily discern which places promised good mining; it was a bone-deep conviction inside their bodies as if the land itself were talking to them. They travelled for several days along the mountain sides, waiting for their hearts to tell them where the right spot to settle would be. They all knew that they wouldn't go any further than here, at least not for now; they had to make sure that before the winter came in full force they would have enough reserves and a roof over their heads to bring them through it so they could send for their kin still remaining in the Iron Hills in the coming spring.

They seemed to stop all at once when they crested the rise of another small foothill and found themselves faced with what looked a small valley coming out from the mountain with patches of trees intermingled by meadow and the occasional outcrops of rock until the mountain side turned steeper. They all felt it - this would be a good place to stay, with supplies of water, wood and yet good surface to build on and begin mining, high enough above the river so they would not be flooded when the spring floods came.

It was Thrór who spoke out loud what everyone was thinking in the end.

"I think we will stay here for the winter."


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WINTER IS COMING (or, well, rather it is here xD.) 
> 
> TW for animal death in this chapter!

 

It was a hard winter.

Harder, possibly, than it had ever been for the dwarves – for never before did they have to spend it outside, relying only on their own abilities and wits. Even though the flight from Erebor after the dragon’s attack had been objectively worse, they _had_ reached the Iron Hills at some point and spent the last winter there, protected from the cold and snow outside within the bowels of the earth where it would never get colder than a certain level and where the heating systems that the dwarves had engineered had created constant warmth and heated even the stone floors of their quarters from below. They thoroughly missed the complex systems of pipe and steam and hot water now, lacking the right space and materials to implement anything remotely like it.

They managed to build several small makeshift huts before the first major snowstorm hit. However, their walls were still bare for they hadn’t had the time for insulation yet. The first night they huddled together in a single one of the huts around the largest fire they had been able to make, trying to keep the cold draft away by spreading the blankets over their backs and sitting as closely together as possible. More than once Thorin was thankful that Dwalin's body was an almost living furnace as they sat huddled underneath Dwalin's fur coat. They spent many nights like that even when they had finished building their temporary homes – although they were surrounded by mountains, the closeness of their friends and kin was what truly held them together and provided warmth beyond mere physical comfort. At least they were surrounded by forest so there was little lack of wood for fires.

Food, however, was another matter. They rationed everything they had from the beginning, but even then, their resources still grew scarce after a few months; the winter was harsher than anything they’d ever been used to and no matter what they did, the food would not last until spring. They would later hear that the snow that spring stayed for unusually long, longer than in many years before. The forest provided them with little; game was sparse on the mountain side and there were no settlements close enough that they could have reached them whilst surrounded by snow.

“We’ll have to slaughter one of the ponies.” Thráin said quietly one early afternoon as they sat around the fire, cradling Dís in his arms who was weak from hunger and still had tracks of tears over her cheeks.

“NO!” Frerin jumped up on his feet, a look of sheer terror on his face.

“Frerin!” Thráin’s voice was harsh, although there was a trace of softness in it. “We will kill only one at first. But otherwise we’ll starve. Your _sister_ will starve.”

“No. There has to be another way. I’ll go out hunting, I’ll try and find food, I’ll-“ Frerin was desperate. He had been caring for the ponies every single day, had dug holes into the snow to find grass for them and tried to keep them as warm as possible even through the icy storms of the mountains.

“It won’t work. There isn’t enough.” His father replied, his voice heavy. “I’m sorry, _dushtel_.”

“But _adad_!” Frerin looked around desperately, to the other dwarrows in the small hut and their gaunt faces, the children weak with hunger. None of the others, however, moved to speak up and help him. Thorin closed his eyes, knowing that at least this once, he was agreeing with his father no matter how much it broke his heart. “Not the ponies, please. Just not-“

“I’ll do it.” Fundin said heavily, grabbing the axe that was never far from his hands these days. More than once the people living in the surrounding areas had tried to rob them before they saw that there was nothing to be had and the dwarves were even poorer than them. Once they had even had to battle a pack of wargs and their orcs that had come down from the mountains at night and they’d had give everything to push them back, although luckily none of them had been seriously wounded.  

“No.” Thráin placed a hand on Fundin’s arm and squeezed lightly. Thorin startled a little; sometimes he forgot what a close friendship there was between his father and Fundin. “It was my suggestion. I will not shy back from the task. Our loyal animals deserve that much.”

“I’ll help you.” Thorin spoke up. He was not looking forward to it, but at the same time he felt it that it was his duty to do so and his father was right. Their ponies had given so much to them, it was only fair to see them off with all the honours they deserved. Frerin stared at his brother as if he had just betrayed him to the elves.

“Thorin, you can’t...” But his voice was no more than a broken whisper; he knew he had lost. Thorin just shook his head sadly, trying to grip Frerin’s shoulder but he ducked out of the way and left their little hut. Glancing after him, Thorin sighed deeply. He didn’t know how he would ever be able to make up for that breach of trust. A single look at his sister’s face, however, told him that they were doing the right thing. Anything, so that Dís might live to see the spring when it finally came.

“Does anybody else have any objections?” Thráin asked as he rose from his seat, gently giving his daughter over into Varna’s and Fundin’s care. Dís mumbled a little protest but quickly curled up against Fundin’s warm side as she was covered in furs again. Nobody objected when Thráin grabbed his axe and gave Thorin a nod before stepping outside as well. Thorin followed him after a short glance into the other’s faces. He saw guilt there and resignation, but also frustration at the situation that they were finding themselves in and a faint glimmer of hope that they would make it to spring after all.

Frerin was nowhere to see when they left the hut and headed over to the makeshift stables where they were keeping the ponies. The animals were nervous when they approached, feeling that something was different than usual. Thráin chose quickly, the task not easy for him either, although there was a glint of steel in his eyes when he led one of their loyal animals out of the stables. They stopped some distance away from the hut before Thráin began his gruesome task whilst Thorin was holding the pony’s reins, trying to emanate as much calm as possible to quiet down the nervous and skittish animal even if his efforts were almost for naught. His hands kept clenching the reins until long after the pony was dead.

During their journey they had all learnt how to efficiently take apart the animals they’d killed, skin them and gut them and get as much out of them as possible. Thráin and Thorin dealt with the carcass as swiftly as possible, already putting some cuts aside to roast over the fire later. This one night, nobody would go to bed hungry.

They washed their hands in the cold snow outside until they were sure that no more blood remained on their fingers and the tools that they had used. There was silence when they returned to the little hut, although most of the dwarves around the fire were busy one way or another – Hulda had taught herself how to weave baskets and other items was now putting her new skills to use with some branches and reeds they had collected before winter had fallen. Others were sewing clothes or repairing holes in them – no dwarf would be able to sit idle for long without busying their hands. It was against their nature. A quick look around showed Thorin that Frerin had returned, sitting secluded in a corner and whittling away at a small piece of wood in his hands. Thorin didn’t even have to look at the small object to know that he was whittling the figure of a pony. Frerin didn’t look up when he entered and Thorin made no attempt to talk to him. Time would hopefully help to soften and heal the rift between them.

Without saying anything Thráin produced the pieces that they had cut off and salvaged for now – some meat and many of the organs that were edible and would otherwise rot and go to waste. Frerin was the only one who refused to eat anything during their small feast, staring in revulsion at the food sizzling over their fire as the dwarves made sure that the meat was roasted enough so that no blood was left on anything they consumed. Thráin left him to his own devices, not trying to force any food on him, but making sure that Dís and the other dwarflings received the best and richest part of the organs and meat so it would nourish them as long as possible. They left some of the cuts to cool down in case Frerin would decide to have any later although Thorin thought it was unlikely.

There was little joy in their meal apart from the purely physical satisfaction of not being hungry anymore. Night had long fallen outside once they were done and Frerin was still sitting in his corner, frantically whittling away at the little pony in his hands. Thorin sighed a little and finally stood up to go over to him.

"Hey." he said quietly, hunching down in front of his brother. Frerin frowned but didn't look up. Thorin rummaged in his pockets until he found the little strip of dried meat that he had put away a while ago and which was the last one they still had.

"It's not from the pony." he added when he saw his brother's sceptical glance. "I promise. It's from the last boar Lís managed to kill a while ago. I'd originally kept it for Dís tonight but you seem to be hungrier now, so..."

"I don't need your pity." Frerin replied sullenly and Thorin had to suppress a groan. The Line of Durin's legendary stubbornness, indeed.

"Then don't take it." Thorin told him sharply. "But hunger won't help you sleep either. And you'll need all your strength tomorrow. I was planning on going hunting again, maybe we'll be lucky this time around so that we'll have to sacrifice no more of our ponies. "

Frerin looked up all of a sudden, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"Really?" he asked. Thorin nodded.

"If nobody has any objections..." He didn't say out loud what they were all thinking, that there was a large possibility that they would catch nothing or only very little the next day but it was the thought that counted and despite his anger Frerin saw that as well. And maybe they would get lucky after all.

"If you're going out tomorrow, could you have a look at the traps I set today as well!?" Despite being seemingly engrossed in dinner and her work, Varna had clearly heard their conversation. Thorin gave her a thankful nod. At least, with an additional task, Frerin wouldn't feel like Thorin was doing this only because he had pity with him.

Varna's statement started a conversation about the tasks that would have to be done the next day - the foremost task was always to get more firewood although by now it proved hard to find wood dry enough that it wouldn't give off too much smoke and burn badly. They could only use larger branches they found - timber from still living trees had to dry through for at least a season before it was ready to use. Thorin could only hope that they wouldn't run out of firewood as well or they would be truly lost.

As it was,  they were lucky the next day. One of Varna's traps had snared a rabbit so at least this one evening they would be able to eat stew and the hot broth made with the bones would help warm them all thoroughly throughout the night. They didn't find any other animals to hunt, but at least the trip hadn't wholly been for nothing. Additionally to the rabbit they also discovered an old dry tree that would yield enough wood to last them for quite a while so they wouldn't get cold any time soon. Frerin seemed pleased; and although he still avoided talking about the incident on the previous day at all and cared for the remaining ponies on their return as if nothing had happened, Thorin knew that the issue was still strong in his mind.

In the end they had to sacrifice a second pony to avoid starving during the last days of winter. Frerin threw no tantrum this time, but his silence was disapproving and he still seemed hurt, nothing being able to convince him to have any food that night, just as before. A good week afterwards, the weather finally turned warmer and it only took a few days for the snow to disappear almost completely. The remaining ponies seemed almost ecstatic - kicking their hooves in the air and jumping around joyfully with the spring sun on their coats. They were followed by Dís and the other dwarflings who ran around screaming in delight at the warmth, scraping up the very last remnants of snow to throw at each other with shrieking joy. Thorin leaned against the door frame of the little hut he shared with his kin and watched them with an almost imperceptible smile on his lips. It did him good to see that they had all survived the harsh winter; but their gaunt faces and haggard bodies bore testimony of all they had been through. Thorin silently vowed to himself that he would never again see any of his folk suffer this much. He remembered well that he had promised himself the same thing earlier that year after they had escaped starvation once already and his hands balled into fists. This time he would keep it. This time he would do even more than he had before. His siblings and the other dwarves had to survive. They simply _had to_.

Someone bumped into him from behind and he jumped, thinking for a moment that it was an orc attacking him although the rational part of him knew that it wasn't possible. He swallowed and dug his nails into his flesh to chase away the smell of blood from his nostrils and the taste of iron from his tongue, so familiar from the times they had fought on the journey before. The shouts in his ear were only a product of his own imagination, he reminded himself.

"Sorry." It was Frerin who was standing behind him and had raised his hands with an apologetic smile. Thorin took a deep breath and half-smiled back, suddenly embarrassed that he wasn't able to shake off the memory from their time on the road so easily.

"No problem." he told his brother. "You just startled me, is all."

Frerin nodded and walked up to him, not pursuing the issue any further. Standing in the doorway next to his brother, he followed Thorin's gaze outside past the ponies to where the dwarflings were playing.

"They would have died, wouldn't they." Frerin said very quietly as they were watching them. It sounded like the words were paining him to say and Thorin didn't have to ask what he meant.

"Yes." he simply replied. "I'm sorry, _nadadith_."

Frerin just nodded and sighed. He seemed to have made peace with the fact now that they'd had to sacrifice two of their ponies for their survival although he would probably never fully approve of it. It took a while for him to speak again.

"I thought about it last night." he continued, sounding almost as if he were talking to himself. "How simple it sometimes is. Dying, I mean. Like that man I killed on our journey. Or the dead in the mountain. The corpses we saw on the way to the Iron hills...it was almost too easy. Don't you think it should somehow be more...difficult to die if life is such a precious thing like everybody says it is?"

Thorin frowned. Whatever he had expected to hear from his brother, it hadn't been this. Frerin was someone who rarely talked about any deeper issues that might be bothering him; but in contrast to his father and older brother he hid everything that was going on inside him behind a wall of cheerful laughter and caring for others. Many had already confused this cheerfulness with being carefree.

"I don't think it's as easy as that." he finally said, wishing for a moment that Balin were here. He knew his writing and lore better than anybody else Thorin knew who was still alive and with them on the road. Balin would surely be able to give Frerin a nice and well-rounded answer that was even theologically well founded. "That life ends so easily shows us just how precious it is, doesn't it? Because it means you should always hold it close and make use of it the best you can."

"But I am scared." Frerin admitted, sounding younger than his years for a moment. Thorin felt himself reminded with a jolt that despite all the hardship they had seen, his brother was still barely more than a child yet. They had all been forced to grow up much too fast. "Scared that one day I'll wake up and you won't be there anymore. And neither will Dís. Or _adad_. Or Dwalin, Varna, Balin, any of the others. I don't want to be left all alone..."

"I'm scared of that, too." The words were out of Thorin's mouth before he could help it. Frerin had just voiced one of his own worst fears aloud, one that had been plaguing him ever since the mountain fell and he had learned that nothing would stay forever and fate could rip away everything it wanted within the space of a single moment. "But don't think about that now. I'm sure there will be many, many decades until any of us die. And until then we will do our best to protect each other, alright?"

"Alright." Frerin nodded, still looking stricken. Thorin acted on impulse, drawing his brother close and turning him around slightly until their foreheads rested against each other. He smiled, looking deeply into his brother's eyes that were only a shade darker than his own.

"Have faith in us." Thorin murmured, trying to convince him as much as himself. "We'll be alright. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dushtel – son of all sons


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IVANA WANTED DWORIN SPARRING SO DWORIN SPARRING IS WHAT YOU'RE GONNA GET
> 
> Also this is so stereotypical and I know it but you know what, I DON'T CARE *whistles*.

"Hey. Care for a practise match?"

Thorin looked up from the engravings on the small knife that he was working on and smiled automatically when he saw Dwalin standing in the doorway of their makeshift little smithy. The small workshop was the first thing they had put up when spring had come and they hoped they would be able to turn it into a proper forge before the next winter.

Most of the dwarves pursued their crafts in here at the moment - not only smithing, but also weaving as in Hulda's case, leatherworking, sewing, and other tasks. Not long ago they'd received their first official order for their wares from a Rohirrim settlement close to the border of the mountains and everyone was eagerly looking forward to fulfilling it - not only because of the money that it would bring them that would hopefully help them to survive the next winter, but also because of the work it was creating for them and the opportunity to use their craft for something worthwhile again.

"Yeah, why not." Thorin told his friend, finding that he had spent far too long hunched over his workbench already. His back was aching and there was a certain fatigue in his muscles; some sparring with Dwalin would be perfect to get him back into shape again. "Just let me finish this one pattern here, then I'll come."

Dwalin grinned in reply.

"Then I'll go get the weapons whilst you finish up."

"Mhm." Thorin nodded and turned his attention back to his work again. It didn't take him long to finish the engravings on the hilt. He took care to clean his work station fully and store everything at its accustomed place before taking off his work apron and stepping outside into the sun. He hadn't really noticed the heat of beginning summer when he had been working, much too engrossed in his task for that, but now in the sunshine he suddenly felt like he was boiling under his tunic.

Walking over to the closest barrel with water he bent down to splash some in his face to relieve some of the burning heat when he could hear Dwalin walking up behind him. He smiled when he remembered the times when they were younger. Back then Dwalin would've tried to sneak up on him so he could dunk him under water for a split moment and bring their parents' wrath upon them when they returned half an hour later, both being completely drenched.

Thorin grinned slightly to himself and waited until Dwalin was almost behind him - then he turned around with full force, splashing an armload of water into his friend's completely surprised face and beard. He didn't care that half of the water landed on himself in the end - Dwalin's expression was definitely worth it.

"THORIN! You-" Dwalin shook his head wildly, water splattering everywhere from his hair. Thorin just laughed and stuck his hands in the water barrel to repeat his little trick. This time, however, Dwalin was prepared - he dropped what he was carrying and lunged forward, managing to get some water in his hands and subsequently drenching Thorin's face and hair with it. Soon they were engaged in a water battle that left nothing dry and ended with both of them on the ground, panting wildly as if they had just chased each other throughout the entire forest surrounding their little settlement. Thorin was still breathless with laughter and unable to resist when Dwalin crawled over to him and began tickling him. It was a well-kept secret that Thorin was one of the most ticklish dwarves of them all; and he had taken great care that nobody would be able to find out this mortal weakness of his. Dwalin, however, knew about it and shamelessly made use of the knowledge whilst Thorin was uselessly trying to bat his hands away or alternatively get in a few tickles himself.

"You bastard." he laughed when Dwalin finally stopped. Dwalin just grinned and evaded Thorin's well-aimed punch to his shoulder.

"Shouldn't have doused me with all that water." he retorted. "I'm only exacting what is apt punishment for this unforgivable crime."

Thorin snorted.

"I'm wet all over as well." he pointed out. "You got your revenge. Now it's time for me to show you what _proper_ retribution looks like and kick your ass in that practise fight."

Dwalin just smirked in reply.

"There's no way you'll win and you know that. But you're welcome to try."

This time Thorin _did_ manage to land a gentle punch on Dwalin's chest before he quickly twisted out of the reach of his grip and jumped up to his feet, ignoring the dirt that had set on his still wet clothes. At least his hair was still bound up from the work in the forge so it wouldn't get in the way when they were practising.

Snatching up one of the wooden practise swords that Dwalin had brought he nodded towards the small shaded patch of even ground towards the forest that they usually used for practising since it would give neither of them any advantages. He threw the other practise weapon at Dwalin and didn't wait to see if his friend would be following him, simply marching ahead.

Dwalin had caught up with him once they reached the edge of the forest. Looking down at their dripping clothes they both decided to ditch their tunics and equally drenched undershirts; it was warm enough anyway and as wet and thus heavy as their clothes were, they would just be a hindrance whilst fighting.

After the short formal bow that traditionally preceded every practise match the two dwarves began circling each other. Dwalin was the first on to attack as it was the case most of the time and Thorin met his slashes evenly and quickly until Dwalin withdrew again. The attack had been carried out with full strength; neither of them tarried long when they were fighting each other for there was little need to test out each other's strength. They had been sparring so often that they could recite most of the others' moves in their sleep by now and each session helped them to synchronise their movements even more.

Thorin had often watched his mother and father on the practise courts together; although Sigvór's main craft'd had little to do with battle she, like every other dwarf, had learned to fight from a very young age on and word was that Thráin had fallen for her the first time he had seen her perform the Dance of Daggers in which dwarrows of all ages would meet for a ritual duel that was more of a dance than it was a true fight. Thorin had watched them fight and train together more than once and he had always been enraptured by the image.

Sigvór and Thráin had always moved in perfect unison seemingly without even looking at each other - their duels had always been one quick blur of movements that almost looked like it had been choreographed in advance although his mother had told Thorin that that had never been the case. It was simply the time the two of them had spent together, paired with an intimate knowledge of each other's body and mind.

Thorin turned his thoughts back to the present and wondered as he was watching Dwalin if they would ever be as intimately linked as his parents has been. Strangely enough, the thought didn't feel weird or repelled him; it seemed to be something very natural that was developing between them, a tight bond that linked the two dwarrows together and only seemed to get tighter as time went on.

Dwalin made a sudden step in his direction and Thorin moved aside just in time although the edge of the wooden blade nicked his arm.

"You're getting slow." Dwalin teased him. "Did too little work during winter time, hu?"

Thorin snorted and countered with a manoeuvre he had learned from his own father that was new to Dwalin. He succeeded in giving his friend a small slap over the arm before Dwalin managed to block his weapon.

"Who's the slow one here?" he called out with a laugh. Dwalin just growled something and moved in again, forcing Thorin into exchanging a quick series of blows during which neither of them won the upper hand. Suddenly, however, Dwalin frowned.

"Are you going easy on me?" he demanded to know from Thorin, sounding utterly serious.

"No?" Thorin had no idea what his friend was referring to.

"My side." Dwalin gesticulated towards where the scar from the previous year's wound was still showing bright red on his skin. "You never try and attack anywhere close to it."

Thorin tried to take a step back and examine his own behaviour when he realised that what Dwalin said was true. Without even noticing he had avoided any attack towards the wound, the incident once again fresh in his mind as he saw the scar from it so prominently now.

"I didn't want to cause you any unnecessary pain." Thorin admitted. "It hardly seems fair to attack your most vulnerable spot."

Dwalin only snorted in reply.

"I don't think 'fair' is anything an orc or bandit will have on their mind whilst attacking." he retorted. "Now stop taking pity on me and fight me properly."

Thorin sighed and took his fighting stance again, this time taking care to spread out his attacks evenly and not pay any attention to how Dwalin was wincing at times when his still tender side was forced to help absorb the impact of Thorin's blows.

After a while their dance began to get more fluid as they both became more and more absorbed in their movements. Thorin felt a calmness spreading inside him that came only with absolute concentration and getting lost in a task, similarly to when he was carrying out his craft. Those were the few moments when his mind was able to let go completely and live only in the here and now, a moment of silence in the storm around him that their lives had turned into ever since the dragon came. From the lost expression in Dwalin's eyes he could see that his sparring partner was feeling the same. Another exchange of blows led to them coming closely together for a moment, so close that Thorin was able to see the flecks of pure silver in Dwalin's grey eyes. Strange how he had never really seemed to have noticed them before and how they now beckoned him to come even closer. He felt his breath hitching slightly before he put more force into blocking Dwalin's weapon and pushed him away again.

Instead of staring at his face, he forced himself to watch Dwalin's arms and chest and look out for the minute signs that would signal a change in his posture and another oncoming attack. He remembered that it had been a while since he had fully seen Dwalin's tattoos - there weren't many of them as of yet but something told Thorin that his collection would certainly grow with age and one day he might be able to tell Dwalin's life simply from the tattoos on his skin.

The latest one Dwalin had received had been in the Iron Hills - a simple shape between his shoulder blades that honoured all the dwarves that had fallen in the dragon's attack and promised never to forget their memory. Thorin himself had a similar one although his own was on the right side of his chest, symbolising his kin that had died and, together with his trimmed beard, would always remind him of everything that had been lost that day.

There were other tattoos as well - the smaller ones on Dwalin's shoulders that denoted his family lines and the ones he had received the day he had officially become a full warrior although, as Fundin had said, one always remained a student of their craft for the rest of one's life. Thorin knew how much those markings meant to his friend and how he bore them with pride, pride of his folk and his heritage and his own abilities.

He could feel Dwalin's appreciative glance travel over his own upper body as well and although he usually hated scrutiny or someone looking at him for prolonged amounts of time he didn't mind much in Dwalin's case. They had grown up together and since the dwarves had always traditionally bathed naked in the large communal steams of the mountain there was no part of their bodies they didn't already know. Still, something shifted in this training fight between them and they both felt it although it was far too early for either of them to acknowledge.

Dwalin suddenly sprang forwards for another lunge in Thorin's direction, although this time Thorin had seen it coming and threw himself aside, remembering Varna's words and teaching from their time on the road. He stretched out one foot as he blocked Dwalin's weapon and managed to snake the front of his boot around Dwalin's ankle, making him stumble. Another push with his arms brought his friend to fall and Dwalin went down on the soft grass with a shout, cursing as he turned around to glare at Thorin.

"That," Dwalin snapped as he spat out some grass, "was entirely unfair!"

Thorin grinned.

"You said it yourself earlier - no opponent out there will care about fair or unfair. There. I'm helping to prepare you for real life."

"Screw. _You_."

Dwalin lashed out and wound his arm around Thorin's ankles, bringing him to fall as well so that Thorin crashed to the ground across from him, facedown into the dirt and his chest hitting Dwalin's. Thorin cursed and spat, but of course he wasn't truly angry nor had he sustained any real damage. How to fall correctly was the first thing every dwarfling learned even before beginning the fight training.

"Now who's unfair?" he asked. Dwalin just stuck out his tongue at him as if they were twenty years younger and Thorin couldn't resist the temptation to throw a handful of dirt into his face. Dwalin sputtered and immediately retaliated, cuffing Thorin in the ribs and trying to rip out some grass to put in his hair. Thorin laughed and tried to roll away from him but at that point Dwalin had already pinned him in his position on top of him and it was impossible for him move. So instead he set to try and tickle Dwalin like his friend had tickled him earlier. His attempts, however, resulted only in Dwalin pressing him even closer to his body to limit his movements.

Soon their little scuffle had completely exhausted them and Dwalin let his head fall backwards on the ground with a sigh whilst Thorin just dropped his forehead on his friend's chest and flopped his arms helplessly.

"I don't think I want to get up any time soon." Thorin murmured. The position was strangely comfortable and reassuring, more so than he'd expected it to be. Dwalin opened one eye, looked at him, and grinned.

"You should though. Your hair is all dirty." he remarked, raising his arm to catch a few strands of Thorin's hair that had escaped the braid and rub them between his fingers.

"And whose fault is that?!" Thorin retorted. He always enjoyed it when Dwalin touched his hair even though it was meant to be a rather intimate gesture amongst their folk.

"Not mine. You were the one tripping me over in the first place." Dwalin replied innocently and Thorin snorted, elbowing him slightly in the ribs.

"Shut up. Your hair looks like something the ponies dragged through the mud as well."

"Oy, stop insulting my hair. It's perfectly fine." Dwalin threw back at him and Thorin just laughed, grabbing one of the strands and waving it in front of Dwalin's face, tickling his nose until he sneezed.

"That was mean." Dwalin grumbled, but his eyes were sparkling with mirth and his fingers kept carding themselves through Thorin's hair. Neither of them seemed inclined to move from their position at the moment although they both knew that there was enough work left to do on this day. They had little time until the first dwarves from the Iron Hills would arrive and join them here in Dunland and until then they wanted to have at least the basics of a few new houses built so that their people would be able to move in almost immediately once they had taken the long way from the Iron Hills upon themselves. Varna and Fundin had taken two ponies and travelled back to the Iron Hills to give them the message and act as a guide and Thorin could only hope that the two of them would come back safely at the end of the summer. They had taken no ravens with them when they had left the Iron Hills in the previous year and so there would be no way of knowing until they returned.

Balin and Dwalin had both been tense since their parents had left although both of them were trying not to show it. Thorin, however, knew his friend better than everyone else and was glad that the sparring seemed to have been able to make Dwalin forget his worries at least for a little while. The gaze from Dwalin's grey eyes met his own now and after a moment Thorin felt something shift in the air, the playfulness passing and making way for something else that neither of them quite knew how to deal with at the moment. Dwalin's hand shifted slightly but there was no further movement from either of them until Thorin was the first one to break the eye contact. Dwalin cleared his throat.

"We should go and see if the others need any help." he said. Thorin nodded, feeling a distant pang of sadness as Dwalin's hands disappeared from his back and hair. With a little sigh he rolled over and off his friend so that they could both stand up. Dwalin was the first on his feet again, smiling as he offered Thorin his hand.

"Come on." His grin was as infectious as always. "Let's get going."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies by the way if I'm currently very slow with replying to things and not very communicative - I have a shitton of real life work, plus the two cosplays for Hobbitcon and a big bunch of birthdays coming up which all demand fics so I really don't have that much time at the moment! I'll still try to keep both my big multi chapter babies running in their usual ca. monthly rhythm but please forgive me if I'm not great at replying to stuff atm (I'll get to it at some point tho!). Thank you <3


	30. Chapter 30

It was a drizzly and grey day when the first settlers finally arrived at Ered Luin. The dwarves heard them before they came into sight - heavy wagons drawn by ponies and some of the larger battle goats they had been able to save from the dragon in Erebor. And with them, dwarves - families, those with partners and those without, a large mass of people that looked weary from the long travels that lay behind them. It was Balin who stepped out first from where he had been working on the fundaments for another house - many of the other dwarves from their group had been further up the mountain side today, to explore where the best areas for mining would be.

Fundin was the one riding up ahead and Balin couldn't help but feel a bright smile blossom on his face as soon as he saw his father. The relief in Fundin's eyes when he saw that the settlement and his oldest son looked well was undeniable. He laughed as he dismounted from his pony and drew Balin into a rough embrace, knocking their foreheads together. Balin frowned as he looked past his father's shoulders, unable to see his mother Varna anywhere.

"Where's _amad_?" he wanted to know, afraid that something might have happened.

"Bringing up the rear," Fundin told him cheerfully. "Wanted to make sure that everyone arrived safely. We did have one or two nasty surprises on the way after all."

Balin was relieved to hear that his mother was fine, although his father's latter words had him worried for a moment. But it looked like most of the dwarrows, especially Fundin himself, were unharmed at least. At that moment he could already hear the other dwarves of their initial travelling group coming over to greet the newcomers and he made way with a laugh when Dís raced past his legs and threw herself at 'Uncle Fundin' in joyous glee. Dwalin was next to embrace his father tightly and although he tried to look nonplussed it was clear that he had missed their parents dearly.

Meanwhile the last of the wagons had rolled into their makeshift little village and Varna was finally able to embrace her family and friends again as well. Balin's eyes narrowed knocking heads with his mother; there were far fewer settlers than they'd all hoped to see here, only a small fraction of Erebor's surviving population.

"Why are there so few?" Balin asked his father quietly. Fundin looked slightly troubled, but answered him after a moment.

"Many seemed to prefer the relative safety of the Iron Hills to the wide unknown of Middle-earth. And I think quite a few still haven't lost the hope that the dragon might leave the mountain soon and they will be able to return."

Balin nodded, well understanding the reasons his father had just named. However, he couldn't help but feel that it had to be almost like a slap into the face of the royal family that so few of their people would trust them enough to follow them into the wilderness. He could only hope that most dwarves of their folk were merely cautious and would wait until the following year to see how the settlement developed and join them then; still, the low number of newcomers was discouraging. At least it would be easier to feed them all during winter, he supposed.

It was Thráin who bade them all welcome; Thrór, although not noticeably worse than when they'd left the Iron Hills, still preferred to remain in the background and slipped away from reality more often than not, longing for past times of glory that would never return. Nár was the only one who he'd allow to keep him company at those times although his oldest friend could do little more than simply be there for him.

Thráin's speech was short, yet it was clear in what high regard he would hold every single one of the dwarrows who had come the long way from the Iron Hills to join them from now on. Over the summer they had worked hard to start building more provisional houses for the new settlers from timber they had drawn from the forest. Business was still dragging but they'd had enough work for them to provide food and put some back for the winter months; they'd hoped that the new settlers would have brought more provisions with them to help them last the cold months and if not supplies then at least enough new abilities to be able to help make more money.

It was strange hearing so much chatter around the settlements as the new dwarves slowly divided themselves up into groups again and began inspecting the place and the new houses. Somehow Balin had gotten used to having so few people around in the time that they had spent here already; he was one of those who had never minded the absence of company too much. He knew that Dwalin often longed to have more of his friends around, for sparring, drinking and celebrating although there had been little to celebrate this past year apart from the fact that they were all still alive.

As the dwarves were filing past him a quick look around showed Balin that his grandfather Farin hadn't come and he felt his previous worry rising up again.

" _Amad_ ," he called out at his mother. Varna smiled and came over to him.

"Where's grandfather? I thought he wanted to come with you?" Balin asked her.

A shadow settled over Varna's face at the mention of Farin and Balin already feared the worst as his mother put a hand on his shoulder.

"His health has worsened a lot since we left," she told him, a shimmer of sadness in her eyes. Balin knew from old tales from his father that she and Farin had gotten off to a more than bumpy start in the beginning of Fundin's and Varna's courtship; at first he had strongly objected to a dwarrowdam not even from the folk of the Longbeards to marry into the Line of Durin but neither Varna nor Fundin had felt inclined to listen to his opinion. It was only over time that the relationship between Varna and Farin had softened and now she loved the old dwarrow like she had loved her own parents that had passed far too soon.

"He still wanted to come," Varna continued. "But there was little chance he would have survived the long trek down here unscathed. He promised he'd follow us once he was better, but..."

Her voice sounded rather helpless and Balin embraced his mother again, trying to offer as much comfort as he could. It would take him a long time to realise that he might indeed never see his grandfather alive on this side of the Halls again - for now he still held onto the hope that one day Farin might indeed join them.

"It looks like you've made good progress!" Fundin's voice cut through the air and Balin turned to see him approaching Thráin and clap his hand on his shoulder. Thráin's smile in response was slightly strained but he nodded along to Fundin's comment. Balin knew that he wasn't quite happy with everything they had managed and had hoped to get much more done in the limited time they'd had; however, the late winter and some severe storms in the summer had made it all but impossible. They could be glad that they had as many houses standing there as it was. Balin could only hope that the dwarves who had newly arrived would be able to help them build the rest of the houses before winter would descend down on their little settlement.

"We tried," Thráin told him and Fundin simply nodded, squeezing his shoulder. Sometimes Balin forgot that his father and Thráin had grown up together much like Dwalin and Thorin were doing now; but their relationship had never been quite as intimate and effortless as that of his brother and the king's oldest grandson. As the only heir Thráin had been weighed down by responsibilities even earlier than Thorin had and he had always been of far more serious nature if Balin could believe his father's words.

"Certainly seems enough for the people who came with us." Fundin's smile was slightly pained as well now and it wasn't a far stretch for Balin to imagine that he felt guilty that not more dwarves had come with them on the long trek down to Dunland.

"Yes." Thráin nodded. "Maybe it is a good thing that there weren't too many of them." It was his own way of trying to tell Fundin that the blame for it didn't rest on his shoulders. He visibly forced himself to smile at his old friend again.

"For now, let us eat. I'm sure you haven't had a full meal in a long time and Hulda brought down a deer yesterday."

Fundin laughed and nodded, following Thráin as he gave orders on what to do with the wagons and ponies and all the things that the dwarves had brought with them. It would take a while to unload everything so for now they moved it all to dry grounds before preparing a large meal for both new and old settlers.

It was a merry, if slightly weary mood that lay over the assembled dwarves when they finally assembled around the large pots in which the evening's stew was simmering. In the resulting mass of dwarves Balin finally had the chance to greet several more of them in person and take stock in his head of those who had arrived. It was good that many different crafts were amongst them - they had metalworkers and leatherworkers, dyers, weavers, miners, architects and even one scholar, the only one who had taken the way from the faraway Iron Hills upon themselves. Balin was glad to see them again - he had spent many an hour in the dwarf's Company in Erebor and was delighted at the prospect to finally continue their talks again.

He also spied several more guards that had come with his parents and more than one who had been trained by Fundin in person. Balin's father was currently talking to Oda, a young dwarrowdam who had just reached mastery status at her chosen weapon, the spear, a week before the dragon had come. She had proven her mastery in one of the traditional battle dances at the end of which Fundin had handed her her new weapon with pride in his eyes. Others were there too, dwarrows that Balin had grown up with and others that he only knew fleetingly and yet he was glad that they had come.

He could spy his old friends Jari and Sudri on the other side of the large room that they were eating in; they stood together with a dwarrowdam that Balin knew only fleetingly although she was one of the few woodworkers that the dwarves had amongst their numbers and apparently the only one who had come to Dunland. Róa was her name, as he remembered now. As he watched, he saw Hulda threading her way through the dwarves and embracing the dwarrowdam with a smile on her face, obviously positively surprised to see her there.

Róa's eyes lit up at her sight and she didn't hesitate for a moment when Dori came over to her and demanded an immediate hug from the dwarrowdam.

"They look happy, don't they." Dwalin's voice ripped Balin out of his thoughts and he turned around to see his brother standing there with a grin on his face.

"They do," Balin confirmed. "Wasn't there a rumour that before the dragon the two of them together with Andri were One?"

"Yeah. I think it was far more than just a rumour though." Dwalin stretched and yawned slightly. It had been a long and tiring day for all of them. However, despite his appearance there were only few dwarrows who had known the gossip of the mountain better than Balin's brother, likely due to spending his fair amount of time drinking with everyone. "But now that Andri has gone back to the stone...who knows what Hulda will do. Róa hadn't really been with them for very long when the dragon came. Maybe they'll find a way to deal with their grief about his passing together now."

"I hope so." Balin nodded. "Dori certainly seems to like her."

"And no wonder, seeing that Róa always made the most beautiful toys for him."

Balin laughed at that and had to agree with his brother. Róa's skill at toy making had been almost legendary in the mountain, although she also supplied rough wood work when times had called for it, for example for the shafts of axes and spears. He hoped that they would be able to sell at least some of her finer work, maybe to the Rohirrim on the other side of the mountains. This year they already had two small trade caravans that had made the way back to the lands they had passed through and they had been able to make a few good deals with the people there with the promise that trade would continue in the next year after the winter was over. For now they would have to focus on finishing the construction work on their houses and make everything ready before said winter would come - and hope that it would not be as long and hard as the last one for although they had been able to store some resources for winter it might not be enough in that case.

"Balin, Dwalin!"

The two brothers turned around to see Thorin standing behind them with a smile on his face. Balin could see how Dwalin's face lit up at Thorin's sight as well and shook his head internally. It became more and more apparent that those two were dancing around each other like a moth around flame even though they seemed completely oblivious to it.

Thorin clapped a hand on Dwalin's shoulder and smiled at Balin as he came to stand next to them.

"Have Varna and Fundin told you yet? They brought a whole wagon of supplies from the Iron Hills for the winter, just like we hoped they would. It will make things a lot easier for us."

"Yeah." Balin nodded. His father had told him earlier, pride gleaming in his eyes. According to him it had been little problem to get the supplies they needed - many dwarves seemed to have felt guilty for not having come with them and had been trying to make up for it with gifts and supplies. At least that was one of the few positive side effects to so few dwarves joining them here.

A few moments later Thorin had taken Dwalin's arm and drawn him away from Balin and into the crowd to show him a few of the new weapons that the dwarves had brought along from the Iron Hills. Balin just shook his head and chuckled slightly to himself at their enthusiasm. The fall of the mountain had taken the last remaining childishness out of their bones with brutal force, making them both seem older far beyond their years at first glance. Sometimes, however, their youthfulness returned and reminded Balin that neither of them had even reached maturity yet, far from it.

"Where are they running off to?" A low voice rumbled behind Balin and he smiled when he recognised the voice of his father. His mother was there, too, as a quick glance showed him, her gaze following Dwalin and Thorin through the crowd.

"Looking at the weapons Oda told them about earlier," Balin told them with a little laugh. Fundin chuckled and Varna sighed fondly - it wasn't the first time that those two had scampered off somewhere to look at new and exciting things. Especially when those things were weapons. Sometimes Dwalin wondered how he and his brother could even be siblings, seeing that the himself preferred books to weapons most of the time and had little desire for adventure and battle. Only when they were sparring could he find the same joy in fighting in himself that he saw in Dwalin's eyes. He often tended to be underestimated thanks to that but Balin thought of it as an advantage rather than a hindrance.

"Of course." Varna laughed. "Have they finally begun courting this summer?"

"...what?" Balin was taken rather off-guard by her question although he _should_ have seen it coming. This was his mother after all, often enough frank to the point of embarrassment.

"Surely you've seen it, too," Fundin added to the conversation. "It might have been almost a century ago but I don't think I'll ever forget what it was like to look at your mother that way."

Varna laughed and Balin felt a shot of embarrassment flush through him. He had never really had any interest in romantic _or_ sexual entanglements and to hear it talked about so openly made him strangely uncomfortable at times. Especially when it was about his own family.

"No, they haven't," he answered slightly belatedly. "I'm not sure it has even entered their mind to do so."

Varna shook her head, but there was still a spark of amusement in her eyes.

"Your son is just like you," she told Fundin. "Knowing him, he won't get a single word out until they're in the middle of a battle or some other important task and then he'll blurt it out at the most inconvenient moment."

Fundin snorted at that, but didn't contest his wife's words as Balin well noted.

"As if Thorin is any different," Fundin chuckled. "They'll dance around each other for a while yet, mark my words."

Balin sighed and rubbed his head.

"Are we done talking about my brother's love life now?" he inquired with a sour tone in his voice that only made his parents chuckle even more.

"We are," Varna relented, taking Fundin by the arm "How about we all go and get ourselves some dinner now and you can tell us about the, in your opinion, more interesting things that happened here this summer, Balin?"

Balin nodded and followed his parents into the mass of people.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet Nori's second mum! And yes, Róa is a trans!dwarrowdam :). Also, yes, polyam is totally a thing amongst dwarves - as is being aroace, like Balin is in my head. 
> 
> Also this was the last B&B chapter before Hobbitcon - the next one will come sometime in April! Have a lovely Easter my dearies <3


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AFTER 100K OF THIS FIC AND TWO YEARS OF WRITING THE MOMENT HAS FINALLY COME  
> they are holding hands  
> [combusts internally]

Getting all the houses for the newly arrived dwarves ready before the winter cold came proved a serious challenge to the dwarrows and soon turned into a frantic race against time. Every single dwarf who was old enough to help and wasn't needed in the forges or elsewhere to make wares and provide for food spent their days working on the new accommodations that were being set up for everyone. And even those that were very young, very old, or otherwise unable to do heavy duty work did their share - there were enough tasks that did not require heavy physical labour and everybody was more than glad to assist with those.

The summer days went by much faster than anyone wanted. Here at the mountainside autumn was short, although with colours of fiery intensity; Dwalin loved the way they shone and sparkled when the sunlight filtered through the leaves. If he squinted he could almost think he was back in the large treasure halls of Erebor where the gems would be piled up in little mountains and reflect back the light of the torches a thousand fold on the green walls. However, the colours of autumn were gone just as quickly as when Smaug had come and destroyed it all, the treasure halls and the place that had been their home. Soon the trees were bare and there seemed to be little else left in the world but brown and grey. They kept working throughout the autumn, even when the mist crept up from the stream both into the valley and down from the mountainside, making it impossible to see little farther than the next house and worrying them all for their sentries were able to see as little as them and if orcs or others decided to attack the fog would provide them with the perfect cover to do so.

They were lucky, however, and no attacks came; but soon after the fog lifted the first snows came down from the sky and started covering the world in a white blanket that seemed to swallow every sound. They managed to cover the last remaining roof just after the first snowfall of the winter so that at least everyone would remain dry throughout the cold months to come. Nonetheless, many of the houses remained half-finished with only rudimentary furnishing inside and they hoped that it would be enough to get them through the cold season, working on the insulation inside long after snow had already fallen for the first time.

Róa moved in with Dori and Hulda and it soon became obvious that the two dwarrowdams had every intention of continuing their courtship, something that made Dwalin glad to see. Even though he knew that all dwarves would carry the scars of everything that had happened to their folk forever, it was important that there would be new beginnings, a sign that life continued, even outside the sacred halls of their fathers. It seemed strange to him that maybe one day little dwarves would be born who had never known life in Erebor and whose parents' desire to return to their home was no more than an abstract wish to them. New friendships had already begun to form and old bonds had become stronger than ever before, strong enough to hopefully be able to withstand the hardest of times.

This winter came as soon as the last one and with just as much cold and even more snow. The dwarves found it hard to move through the strong gales of wind coming down the mountainside and piling the snow higher than them at times - at least this time they had snow plows and other tools to make shovelling it aside easier, but it was hard work and many of them sported new blisters on their hands at the end of each day. Dwalin found himself more than grateful every single time he remembered the food stores the dwarves had brought with them from the Iron Hills. Without those, they would probably be starving soon.

Despite the apparent abundance of food in the beginning of winter they found themselves rationing their reserves rather carefully from the very beginning. None of them wanted to live through a winter like the one in the year before yet again and the fear in Frerin's eyes every time he went over to the ponies to care for them was obvious. Dwalin equally hoped that they wouldn't be forced to slaughter any more of them this year. They had all grown attached to the sturdy animals over time although a few dwarves amongst them would never feel quite comfortable in their presence which most of them had grown accustomed to by now.

Something else that they would never get used to, however, was the cold. They had never been able to feel the bite of the wind this strongly inside the mountain. No matter how well they insulated their little houses, it was still strange to feel their entire homes shaking around them with the apparent fragility of wood instead of being surrounded by the reassuring firmness of a mountain. Dwalin hoped that one day they might be able to tunnel through the rock in these mountains again and make halls of stone that felt far better suited to them than these humble little abodes they were living in now.

For now, however, they were once more forced to hide under all the blankets and furs they owned, huddling together for warmth when the winter storms swept the landscape and rattled across the roads of their little settlement. Dwalin's and Thorin's family remained together in the same house for most nights, the shared warmth more important to them than any artificial boundaries. As it was, their two families had become as close as possible by now anyway and especially Dís enjoyed it to have all of them so close at hand to play with her.

One evening Dwalin and Thorin found themselves in the little room that Thorin shared with his siblings. Dwalin had decided to keep his friend company as Thorin finished up the sharpening of his sword whereas the others had disappeared through the door already to huddle in front of the fireplace and wait for Balin whose duty it had been to check the traps outside the settlement today, together with Oda.  

For a while they only sat side by side in comfortable silence, the howling of the wind outside and the steady sound of the whetstone the only sounds in the room. Dwalin didn't quite like how strong the wind had become; the sky had been dark earlier, promising another snow storm and he could only hope that Balin and Oda would be back in time to avoid the worst of it and not get lost. For now, however, sitting here and watching Thorin's precise movements gave him comfort and helped him to calm down like little else could.

Thorin shifted slightly so that their shoulders brushed against each other and Dwalin could feel something deep inside his stomach flutter. Neither he nor Thorin had ever talked about what had happened at the beginning of this year's spring, the way that they seemed to go together so naturally as if they were two parts of one by now. Dwalin often knew Thorin's thoughts before he could say them out loud and could even guess the ones that remained unsaid; and more often than not Thorin would do a gesture or motion that Dwalin had thought about doing before he could even begin to carry it out.

"Do you think it's sharp enough?" Thorin broke the silence before Dwalin's thoughts could wander off elsewhere again.

Dwalin just wordlessly held out his hand and Thorin put his sword into it without hesitation; it was yet another proof of how much he trusted his friend for no dwarf would ever give his weapon out of his hand lightly. Dwalin tested the edge of the blade carefully with his thumb and nodded.

"'s fine," he told Thorin, not quite knowing what else to say.

"Thanks." Thorin took the weapon back from him and sheathed it before dropping it on the roughly made bed he was sitting on. His fingers brushed Dwalin's and both of them stopped in their movements for a moment. Time seemed to become brittle and thin and all of a sudden Dwalin was acutely aware of how close Thorin was sitting to him and the warmth that radiated from his body despite the cold of winter outside. Thorin swallowed and Dwalin wondered how he had never noticed how beautiful the hairs of his beard were, no matter how short Thorin still cropped them as a sign of mourning and respect for all they had lost. He suddenly longed to run his fingers through the short hair, to follow their trail with his mouth and-

Dwalin shook his head to banish the thoughts from his mind, although the strange magic of the moment was leaving neither of them alone. As he remembered to breathe again he realised that Thorin had been looking at him the entire time and suddenly he felt ashamed, almost embarrassed of what he had just been thinking.

"We should probably go downstairs and join the others," he pressed out.

"Yeah," Thorin agreed with him but still, neither of them actually moved. Dwalin felt almost tempted to brush his fingers against Thorin's again, just to see what it would feel like. His hand twitched, but for the moment it still stayed where it was, the fear of destroying the decades long friendship between them too strong at the moment.

"Do you think Balin and Oda will have made it back in time before the snow storm?" Even though his worry was real, Dwalin only said those words in order to break the silence that now seemed to be filled with all kinds of thoughts that really shouldn't have been there.

Thorin shifted slightly, slowly breaking the strange mood which had settled between them.

"I'm sure they have - Balin at least has already spent one winter here so he knows the weather as well as anybody. They'll have seen the dark clouds on the horizon and hurried back as soon as possible, even if they hadn't looked at all the traps yet. Their lives are much more important than a little bit of food after all."

Dwalin nodded, still feeling strange, this time not only due to Thorin being so close. Just like Balin he had always known when his brother was in trouble and something told him that things weren't quite as they should be. He was so lost in his worry that he almost missed Thorin reaching out and squeezing his shoulder.

"They'll be fine." Thorin's voice was earnest and full of sympathy. No wonder, since he shared a similar bond with his own siblings.

Dwalin reached up unthinkingly to pat Thorin's hand as a symbol of gratitude for his encouragement and didn't even realise what he was doing until his own hand was resting on top of Thorin's. Thorin didn't seem to mind however - he only gave Dwalin a crooked little smile and a little nod as if to encourage him and tell him once more that everything would be alright. Dwalin wished he'd had the strength to tell Thorin how much he loved his smile - the way it seemed to transform his entire face, how it took away the hardness that had been edged in there ever since Smaug had come to the Mountain and the way it made his eyes shine and little creases of laughter form at their edges. The burden of being his father's oldest child and therefore next in line to the throne after Thráin had chiselled away at Thorin's mind especially over the past two years and Dwalin found that he was more than glad that there was yet some vulnerability and softness to be found in Thorin's gaze - and even gladder that his friend trusted him enough to reveal it to him.

Almost as if on an afterthought, Dwalin finally took his hand off Thorin's, although they remained sitting together comfortably close. He could feel Thorin shivering slightly and frowned.

"Are you cold?"

There was a slight draft coming in from the shuttered window and suddenly Dwalin remembered that Thorin had been sitting here for a while sharpening his sword. Where Dwalin seemed to be almost a natural furnace, Thorin'd always had a tendency to get cold hands and feet much more quickly than him.

"Yeah," Thorin admitted, another shiver running through him. Dwalin knew that they should probably go down to join the others where there was a nice fire blazing in the hearth, but somehow it seemed that neither of them wanted to break out of their little time together just yet.

"Wait."

Dwalin turned around to rustle with the blankets on the bed for a moment before he took one in hand and carefully spread it over Thorin's back for him to huddle under. Thorin smiled at him and held out one end of the blanket in an obvious signal for Dwalin to join him. Dwalin followed his suggestion after a short moment of hesitation, almost surprised when Thorin huddled closer to him to fit the blanket over both their shoulders, squashing their arms in the middle. Dwalin laughed when they were wrestling with each other and the blanket for a moment, feeling like a small dwarfling again when they used to brawl on each other's beds and held pillow fights of epic proportions.

"There. Better?" Dwalin asked Thorin belatedly as they had finally managed to find positions that suited them both and meant they were both warm together beneath their blanket.

"Mhm." Thorin sounded rather content.

Dwalin looked down at his fingers and remembered what it had felt like when Thorin had touched them earlier - he had never quite believed that his own rough hands, so calloused from work and weapon's training, could ever feel so soft under another's touch, even though Thorin's hands were adorned by the same callouses and signs of hard work as his own. Thorin's right hand was lying between them, touching both Dwalin's leg and hand and with a little flutter of his heart Dwalin decided to brush against it in a deliberate movement, wondering whether Thorin would pull away or not. He could hear Thorin taking in a sharp breath and Dwalin wondered briefly how it came that a touch so small could have such an effect on them, seeing that they had been brawling and scuffling with each other for as long as he could remember.

However, Thorin didn't move away. Instead, he laced two of his fingers with Dwalin's, hesitantly, as if he wasn't quite sure of his own body and what he was doing with it. Dwalin felt like he should say something, but as with many issues between them, things were explained much more easily if they didn't use words. There was an absurd urge inside him to laugh at how their lives had let them here, to this place and to everything that had happened between them now even though none of the events were anything to laugh about.  And yet...

The pressure of Thorin's fingers on his increased and Dwalin found himself shifting closer in response. A wish flickered through his mind, the thought that if he could stop time, he would do so right here and now and not think about the consequences or what might lie ahead.

He thought about something to say, but all the words that came into his mind seemed to be rather pretentious and ill-fitting and he thought that they would surely destroy the mood - _I never thought it would be you and yet I hoped it would be_ , _You are beautiful_ , _Please tell me that this isn't a joke_ , _I have dreamed of this._ There was only one thing that he could come up with in the end and he regretted how lame the words sounded as soon as he'd spoken them.

"Are you still cold?"

Thorin laughed quietly and used Dwalin's question as an excuse to shift even closer to him.

"Not anymore," he answered quietly and there was a rough note in his voice that sent shivers down Dwalin's spine.

"Good," Dwalin murmured and interlaced another finger with Thorin's.

Thorin turned his head to look at him and Dwalin found himself meeting his eyes for the first time since he had put the blanket over their shoulders. It was as if he was seeing them for the first time - he had often heard the blue eyes of the royal line of Durin being described as 'bright clear gems' or 'a spring morning's sky' but those words weren't quite right, in his opinion. Looking Thorin in the eyes when he was looking at you with nothing but affection was like plunging into the depths of the lakes you could find in the cool caverns deep beneath the earth - it was dangerous, all-encompassing and a part of you wanted to do nothing more than simply let go and drown in them.

Thorin blinked, but it did nothing to break the spell and Dwalin was suddenly acutely aware of the texture of Thorin's skin where their fingers were intertwined. He licked his lips and that motion seemed to do something to them both, for Thorin was leaning in more closely. Dwalin felt like his own head was being pulled forwards by an invisible string and he could hear his heart hammer in his ears. _I feel like I am about to scream_ , he thought. _That, or break out into haltless laughter_. _Shouldn't the first kiss be a lot more romantic than-_

He never finished the thought, for they were interrupted by a frantic knock on the door and by Varna stomping into the room moments later. That her reaction to seeing her son and Thorin huddled underneath a blanket together was no more than a raised eyebrow told Dwalin that something had to be wrong and the alarm bells which had been silent for the past few moments were shrilling again in his head.

"Oda just returned." Varna got straight to the point with her announcement. "She barely made it. Balin...Balin is lost in the snow storm outside."


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaannnnnd another one, for you entertainment. SNOOOOW. (Also, everyone go and wish Redsirion a Happy Birthday! =D)

“ _No._ ” Dwalin jumped up from his seat, every thought of intimacy momentarily forgotten. His thoughts were racing and he was unable to catch a single clear one. He wasn’t even aware that his hands were shaking until Thorin put a comforting hand on his fingers.

“What do you mean, _lost_?” Dwalin demanded to know from his mother. It was if his mind still couldn’t accept even the remote possibility that this brother would simply be gone like that, without a trace or warning.

Varna simply shook her head, the grief and worry in her eyes apparent.

“Oda will tell us the details shortly. If you two want to join us?”

There was no question as to whether they would, of course. Dwalin noted that Thorin was just as fast to nod and follow Varna as he was, the blue of his eyes shining brightly with the fear of yet another loss of someone so close to him.  

Oda was waiting with the others downstairs. She was shivering visibly although she sat right in front of the fireplace, fingers wrapped around a steaming mug in her hands. From the smell Dwalin guessed that they had put in a good dollop of their stronger liquor before handing it to her. Oda acknowledged their presence with a nod before she took a deep breath.

“We were out checking the traps as we were supposed to when the snowing started. At first glance it didn’t look that bad, but we hadn’t seen the dark clouds piling up behind the mountain and didn’t turn back in time because of that. The wind picked up soon enough and we hurried home, trying to stay as closely together as possible. But then darkness came and the snow got thicker and thicker…at some point there was a blast of snow coming down from a tree above and I thought Balin had been buried underneath so I tried to search for him, to help him out of the snow, but he wasn’t there. I think he must have tried to walk around but gotten lost in the storm and…”

Oda drew her shoulders up, another shiver running through her. Dwalin suddenly remembered how young she still was, barely older than Frerin.

“I’m so sorry. It was all my fault,” she whispered.

It was Fundin who walked over to her first, putting a comforting arm around her shoulder even though his entire being spoke of his own worry for his oldest son.

“We should be putting together search teams,” Varna suggested. “At least three per team, with warm clothes and torches. We can-“

“It’ll be too dangerous.” Thráin remarked. “The storm is still going strong; none of us will be able to find their way outside. We should wait until the storm calms down a little before we go, it would be safer for everyone involved.”

“I won’t leave my brother out there to freeze and die.” Dwalin’s voice was almost too loud and Thráin bristled at being spoken to in such a tone.

“Even if it might cost your own life?” Thráin’s voice was sharp. Dwalin felt anger rise in him and he was about to shout back when he could feel Thorin’s hand on his arm, squeezing slightly.

“If it was Frerin out there you’d be going as well, _adad_ ,” Thorin said softly, intentionally using the more personal term of endearment for him. “We have to find Balin. At all costs”

He didn’t have to say out loud what he meant – that he wouldn’t lose a single other person of those he loved to the cruel ways of fate if he had any say in it. Dwalin took Thorin’s hand and squeezed it slightly before brushing it off his arm so he could step forward.

“I will go no matter what,” Dwalin stated firmly, refusing to back down in front of the crownprince.

“And I’ll go with him,” Thorin added, walking up to stand at his side. Dwalin felt a feeling of fierce gratitude rushing through him. He would always have Thorin’s back, no matter what; that the feeling was being returned without any reservations made a rush of warmth run through him despite the fear in his heart.

Thráin looked as if he was about to throw another sharp sentence at them but suddenly he almost seemed to deflate, sinking back in his chair and sighing.

“Take as many ropes as you can with you,” he said. “According to Oda they weren’t far from the settlement when it happened; bind yourselves to each other and try and leave ropes between the trees so you will be able to find your way back.”

Dwalin nodded – the suggestion was more than sensible indeed. Fundin was already on his feet to go and get the ropes that Thráin had been talking about.

“I will come as well.” There was a quiet voice from the fire and everybody looked over to where Oda was still cradling her mug.

“No,” Varna told her gently, but firmly. “You stay here and get warmed up. You’ve done enough today – just describe to us once more exactly where you lost Balin so that Thorin and Dwalin might hear it as well.”

Oda looked unhappy, but the fact that she was still trembling slightly told them all that it was best if she would remain here for now. Her description of the place was quick and precise and Dwalin noted proudly that, although so young, she had already begun to hone the gaze of a true warrior.

They quickly decided to form one team of two and one team of three – Thráin, Nár and Thrór would remain at the house together with Dís who was too young yet to go out with them. Varna and Fundin would form one team and Dwalin, Thorin and Frerin the other. Nár promised to get more help from the others in the village as soon as possible – more than one dwarf would probably be ready to help in searching for Balin if told about the situation.

All five dwarrows were silent as they prepared to go outside and brave the storm. Frerin was the one amongst them who was most adept at making good knots so they left it to him to rope them all together after they had put on the thickest winter coats that they could find. They took plenty of torches with them and Dwalin hoped that those would be able to withstand the wind outside. They also packed water, some dry meat and another big coat for Balin should they find him; Varna and Fundin had done the same, using Thráin’s coat that he had graciously volunteered for the purpose.

“Good Luck.” Varna’s voice was serious as she briefly touched foreheads with everyone in the group, even Thorin and Frerin, before they all made to venture outside. It showed just how close they had grown and Dwalin was glad to see it. Taking a deep breath, he was the first one to step outside.

The cold hit him like a wall and for a moment Dwalin thought he would be unable to breathe. Then he forced his body to go on, to put one foot in front of the other as he lifted the torch in his hand up high so he would be able to see where they were going. He waited at the side of their little house for the two other dwarrows to join him, making sure that everyone was alright before moving on. He signalled the question if everything was okay to the others with his hands, receiving two curd nods in return.

Together with Varna and Fundin shortly behind them they headed down the path towards where Oda had lost Balin. Dwalin was slogging on ahead through the snow, mentally cursing the snow after a few steps already. It was hard going through the piles that the storm had amassed already but there was little they could do about it. At least there storm truly seemed to be lessening in its intensity and Dwalin hoped that it might be gone completely soon.

After they reached the end of the settlement, they split off from Varna and Fundin who would be going back the original path that Oda had taken. Dwalin, Thorin and Frerin chose a slightly different route next to it. Although their shouts of Balin’s name were mostly carried away by the wind, they still kept on calling it in the faint hopes that he might hear.

Even though the storm was over its ferocious peak now their task was anything but easy. In the descending darkness and the flickering light of their torches every brush looked like it could be the slumped over form of a dwarrow, half covered in snow. Dwalin’s mind unhelpfully kept shouting at him what would happen if he simply _overlooked_ his brother. What if they had already walked past him and he was out there, unconscious and slowly freezing to death under the snow – Dwalin’s breathing grew frantic and he had to force himself with all his might to remain at least physically calm. It was barely possible. 

“BALIN!” His lungs felt like they were filling with ice crystals every time he opened his mouth, but he didn’t care. Suddenly there was a tug at the rope around his hips and he turned to see Frerin on the ground, smiling apologetically (as far as Dwalin could tell behind the scarf wrapped around his face).

“Sorry!” Frerin shouted. “Must’ve stumbled over something!”

Dwalin nodded, biting back a sharp string of words. It wasn’t Frerin’s fault that the snow was so thick you were often barely able to spy any obstructions on the way such as, for example, old tree roots. He waited impatiently for Frerin to stand up and dust the snow off himself again, pointedly not looking at Thorin at the end of their small three-man chain, afraid that his friend might read him like a book if he did.

Dwalin turned with a grunt as soon as Frerin was on his feet again and they continued their search in what would soon be total darkness. After Dwalin’s estimation they shouldn’t be far from their meeting point with his parents, not far from where Oda had lost sight of Balin in the first place. His heart grew more desperate the closer they came; and when they finally reached the agreed meeting point without finding anything Dwalin was close to throwing himself to the ground and simply begging Mahal to give him back his brother. He could only hope that Fundin and Varna had been more successful; those hopes, however, were equally destroyed when they saw two figures emerge from the darkness. The expression of grief on Varna’s face told him everything he needed to know without asking. She and Fundin simply shook their heads as they approached and for a moment there was nothing else but silence, only interrupted by the howling of the wind and the breaking of distant tree branches under the weight of the snow. Then they huddled together closely, to shield each other from the wind as well as to discuss the next step in their plan.

None suggested to give up on their search, not yet anyway. The hope that they would find Balin alive was still there; it hadn’t been too long yet and he had been wearing thick clothes. If they only knew where to find him…

“Let us round back and try to take a different route this time,” Fundin suggested. Dwalin and the others nodded; their thoughts had been running along similar routes. It didn’t take them long to work out which way they would be going back and Dwalin hoped that it meant they would have most of the places between here and the settlement covered. As long as Balin hadn’t been stumbling away blindly in a completely different direction they _had_ to find him. Or at least Dwalin told himself so –everything else was far too terrifying even to consider.  

There was no point in waiting around any longer and time was of the essence. The dwarrows set off again, this time in slightly different directions than before. It was harder going on the way back since they weren’t following any old paths, instead weaving their way through freshly fallen snow in the forest in what they thought was the right direction. Dwalin could only hope that his sense of direction wasn’t deserting him; to get lost now would be the worst possible thing that could happen to them aside from not finding Balin. At least he was the one leading the way and not Thorin, who would have probably gotten them lost within moments.

All three of them kept calling Balin’s name and more than once Dwalin thought he’d heard an answering call riding on the wind, only to have to admit after a while that his senses had been fooling and giving only what he had wanted to hear. A thought shot through his mind – what if they weren’t the only ones out here? What if some bandits or orcs had come down the mountains, judging the horrid weather a perfect opportunity to catch them all unawares? What if wargs were prowling the forest at this very minute, already having devoured his brother and his parents and soon them too?

Before his panicked thoughts could run away from him any further, Dwalin shook his head violently and roared, smashing a hand against a tree next to him, almost sending a cloud of snow down on them from an overhanging branch. He could feel Frerin’s hand on his shoulder and Thorin’s on the other, but simply shook his head and brushed them off as he caught himself and continued to walk. He could not allow to show any weakness now, least of all in front of himself.

It was the strange shape that first caught his attention. They’d been walking past numerous boulders and brushes covered in snow before, but as soon as Dwalin saw the shape further away, just touched by the light of his torch, he knew that there was something different about it.

“BALIN!” he shouted again, at the top of his voice. Maybe he only imagined it, but he thought the shape moved slightly and became even more dwarven in its outline in the process. Dwalin began to walk even faster, as far as that was possible, not thinking of the others getting dragged along on the rope behind him. The shape moved again and this time he was sure; the last few steps he was running as fast as the snow allowed.

“Balin!” Dwalin reached out to shake what was definitely his brother’s shoulder. There was some grumbling and then Balin very slowly turned his head, eyes barely open and looking confused as he seemingly tried to make sense of what was happening around him.

Frerin and Thorin came to a halt next to him and Thorin immediately began unpacking and rolling out the thick coat they had brought along.

“Balin!” Dwalin called out his brother’s name for a third time after they had wiped away most of the snow from his skin. He slapped Balin’s cheeks in a desperate attempt to try and wake him up. Balin’s lips moved although Dwalin was unable to understand what he was trying to say. He took it as a positive sign, however, that Balin was still moving out of his own accord and signalled Frerin to help him pull Balin up and wrap him in the coat the Thorin was holding out now.

Between the three of them they managed to get Balin to stand up, although Balin protested markedly. Dwalin was still unable to understand most of what his brother was saying, but he understood the words ‘cold’ and ‘tired’.

“No, you’re not going to sleep now,” Dwalin chided him, putting as much anger as he could into his voice, hoping it would help wake his brother up. “You’re going to walk back home with us to a nice hot bath and _there_ you can sleep.”

There were mumbled protests from Balin, but at least he attempted to set one foot before the other by himself. Frerin was leading the way as Dwalin and Thorin were supporting Balin on both sides, insisting that he take one step after another and help them to reach their home. They were intent on getting there as fast as possible despite their slow speed and therefore didn’t pay as much attention to the path in front of them as they should have.

Suddenly Frerin gave a shout and the next thing Dwalin saw was him going down in a flurry of snow and branches. Only Thorin stepping forwards and grabbing his brother by the back of his coat kept him from tumbling down the soft incline they were currently walking on.

“Frerin! You alright?” Worry was oozing out of Thorin’s voice, covering most of the annoyance in it. It hadn’t only been Frerin’s fault that he fell, it had been all of theirs.

Frerin smiled weakly at Thorin before he tried to hoist himself up on his feet again. However, as soon as he did he fell back again with a pained yelp. It didn’t take long for them to discover the source of it – Frerin’s ankle had caught under a root and been twisted at a rather unnatural ankle. There was no telling the damage at the moment, but it was clear that he wouldn’t be able to walk fast or far at all.

“Shit.” For a moment Dwalin felt so frustrated once more that he thought he would scream.

“I can walk.” Frerin protested as he tried to pull himself up once more with Thorin’s help, this time not putting any weight on his foot. Thorin frowned and exchanged another glance with Dwalin; it was clear to both of them that it would take far too long for them to reach the settlement again that way, even though neither of them doubted Frerin’s stubbornness to drag himself all the way back by himself if need be. But Thorin would never leave his brother, just as Dwalin would never leave his.

“What do we do?” Dwalin’s question hung between them like an iron veil.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished this baby up quickly over the last few days before I'm moving tomorrow and then go off to visit a friend soon hehe. Enjoy!

“One of us could go on ahead and get help whilst we wait here. If we had sledges and more people we could easily pull both of them back,” Thorin suggested, trying to stifle the panic that was rising up in his thoughts.

“I’m not sure Balin can wait that long.” Dwalin shook his head and looked down at his brother. Balin’s mumbling had almost ceased now and Thorin shared Dwalin’s worry about his brother – he had been out here for way too long already.

“I can stay here whilst you two go on ahead and get help,” Frerin offered.

“No.” This time it was Thorin who was shaking his head firmly. “It might take too long. And it will be too difficult to find you again.”

“Take some of the ropes we still have with you. You could also mark the trees, “ Frerin suggested. His face looked rather crestfallen as he added: “It was me after all who brought you into this mess. I should be the one to stay here…”

“Shush. It could have happened to any of us,” Thorin tried to take the worry off his brother’s shoulders. He could see the frown on Dwalin’s face and sent him a furious glance –if Dwalin was going to dare and say a single word agreeing with Frerin Thorin would have to have some sharp words with him. He knew that Dwalin wasn’t thinking coolly at all right now, his mind obviously reeling with worry for his brother – but Thorin would not take any attacks against his own brother lightly.

“I’ll not leave Frerin alone here.” he stated.

“Whatever we decide, we should decide quick.” Frerin threw in. “Every moment is precious time lost for Balin. You go ahead with the rope and I’ll follow you more slowly. The storm has led up so I’ll see your tracks. It’s fine.” He attempted to smile, but it looked slightly lost.

Dwalin looked at Thorin and suddenly Thorin knew that it was his decision to make. Dwalin would never leave Balin here, not in Balin’s state; and if Thorin refused to go with him, he would attempt to drag his brother back to the settlement on his own, no matter the risks. And yet, every single sinew of Thorin's body resisted even the thought of leaving Frerin all alone with nothing but a torch to find his way back through the forest in the aftermath of a snowstorm. Thorin closed his eyes, hating himself for the next words and preying they wouldn’t come back to haunt him.

“Alright, I’ll go ahead with Dwalin. As soon as we find any others, I’ll come back. I’ll try and mark our passage clearly, but if you aren’t sure where to go, stay. _Don’t_ get lost.”

“Like the rest of your family is apt to do,” Dwalin murmured. Thorin gave him the chuckle that Dwalin had been aiming for, relieved that at least he still seemed to have it in himself to make a bad joke.

Thorin threw one last glance at Frerin who was still holding on to a tree next to him for support.

“I promise I’ll be back,” he said again, more to reassure himself than his brother. Frerin gave him another smile.

“I know. Now get going before you lose any more time.”

Thorin nodded and stepped at Dwalin’s side again, slinging Balin’s arm over his shoulder in the process. They didn’t try and coax Balin to walk on his own anymore now – it was clear that he was getting weaker with every moment that passed. Not speaking a single word they made their way back to the village. Thorin was relying on Dwalin to keep them going in the right direction for he was soon loosing orientation in the forest again. However, he still remembered to leave broad traces and shake the snow off a number of branches on the way so they would be able to recognise the path later. Using the rope would have cost them too much time so he hope he was doing enough.

Thankfully they had already covered quite some distance from where they had first found Balin – and now that they were carrying him instead of coaxing him along they were even faster. Still, it seemed to Thorin that every single moment was stretching into eternity and his mind was filled with terrifying images of Frerin getting lost, of his brother freezing to death or being buried in a sudden spill of snow from somewhere.

When they finally glimpsed light between the trees Thorin let out a sigh and, even though he wouldn’t have thought it possible, they sped up once again, now almost heedless of the hidden root network under the snow. Thorin could only hope that neither of them would stumble and injure themselves like Frerin had.

They began shouting as soon as the lights ahead were close enough that they could recognise that these were torches carried by other dwarves, obviously part of the larger search party that had been formed. Soon enough they were being recognised and Thorin saw Varna and Fundin amongst those who came running towards them, the worry turning into relief on their face as they saw who they were carrying between them.

“Balin!” The name was on their lips quickly, although Thorin could see both Varna and Fundin frown as they came closer and saw that Balin was barely moving – and that Frerin wasn’t with them.

“He’s alive,” Dwalin said roughly. “We should get him somewhere warm and to a healer as fast as possible though.”

“Frerin stumbled and twisted his foot,” Thorin threw in after their questioning glances. “He said he’d remain behind until we’d come to get him.”

“I’ll go back with you,” Dwalin announced as Varna and Fundin were gently taking Balin from them and transporting him to the sledge that one of the other dwarves had brought. Thorin threw him a surprised glance.

“Don’t you want to stay with your brother?” he asked. He knew how much Dwalin had to be worrying even now that they had almost reached safety. Dwalin gave a movement in reply that was somewhere between a nod and a shrug and Thorin could see the two different desires warring inside him.

“Balin is safe with Ma and Da for the moment, as safe as he’ll get. And the reason that Frerin is still out there is because of my brother, so...” He shrugged again. “It only seems fair.”

Thorin knew just how much those words must have cost Dwalin. To not be by his brother’s side, even for Thorin’s sake…it touched something deep inside and for the first time since Varna had come into the room earlier he remembered the touch of their hands together again and what had almost happened.

“Then let us hurry.” Thorin agreed. “Before the tracks on the path back get too difficult to read.”

Dwalin nodded and with a few quick words they explained their intent to the other dwarves. Varna and Fundin simply inclined their heads in agreement, knowing their son’s thoughts better than Dwalin knew his own. There was only one sledge they had with them for now and that one was being used for Balin; but they had taken another coat with them and handed that one to Thorin and Dwalin now should Frerin be cold.

They thanked them and immediately headed back off into the forest again. Thankfully the snowstorm had truly lost its fury for now and although the snow was still coming down, the wind wasn’t blowing with such fury anymore that it would obscure any signs within moments. They found their way back well enough with the tracks they had left although they paused more than once to make sure that they were still going in the right direction. Thorin wasn’t quite sure he would have been able to follow it all without Dwalin by his side.

Frerin hadn’t stayed still like he’d promised – he’d begun to come after them, leaning on trees and branches and hissing every time his foot hit the ground. He had come a sizeable distance and once more Thorin was reminded of how resilient his little brother was and how fast he had been forced to grow up. He would always think of Frerin as his ‘little brother’ but those words might not be quite true anymore. Frerin certainly knew how to look out for himself now.

“You alright?” Thorin asked him gently as soon as he and Dwalin had slung their arms under Frerin’s shoulders again.

“’m fine.” Frerin sounded rather out of breath, but the smile he threw in Thorin’s direction seemed to be real.

“How is Balin? Did you manage to get him back safely?” he asked them after a moment.

“We met Ma and Da towards the settlement and they took care of him.” It was all that Dwalin would say for now – now that they had Frerin with them again the worry about his own brother had to be hanging like a scythe over his neck once more.

Frerin nodded and gave Dwalin a little smile.

“Thanks for coming back to get me.”

Dwalin, as ever not exactly great at dealing with praise, simply grunted and nodded. Thorin smiled, despite the situation.

"I promised to come back, didn't I?" he said. "I'd never leave you behind."

He might have gripped his brother a little more tightly as he said those words, but nobody lost any words about it. Sometimes Thorin wished he could simply keep him close all the time, watch over him and Dís so that nothing bad could ever happen to them. But then he knew that doing so would be selfish and even cruel to them. He could only hope that fate would spare them any more misery.

Their going back to the settlement was of course slower than when they had returned to find Frerin, but he did his best to hop along on his injured foot and so they made reasonable speed. Not long after they had picked him up they saw more light coming towards them, the shapes soon solidifying into another group of dwarves that had been sent to meet them. Between them they were pulling another large sledge, clearly meant to help with bringing Frerin back to the settlement. However, that wasn't what brought Thorin up short when he first saw them - it was the face of his father amongst the dwarves, eyes wild with worry that soon softened into relief as soon as he caught sight of his two sons.

He immediately made his way past the other dwarves and came to a halt right in front of them. Thorin could see the struggle in his eyes, of trying to stay regal and strong, as his position and royalty demanded, or simply give in to the emotions inside him and envelop both of his sons in an embrace. In the end he decided to carry out a mixture of both - one of his hands dropped on Thorin's shoulder and squeezed tightly, expressing everything he was unable to put into words, the other on Frerin's as he knocked foreheads with his younger son.

"Are you alright?" he asked him roughly.

"I'll be fine, _adad_." Frerin gave him a smile with as much vigour as possible although he was having a hard time hiding the pain that he had to be feeling completely. Thráin seemed to have noticed, for he frowned a little and then gestured for the group with the sled to come closer.

"Sit down," he told Frerin, the worry making his voice rough. "We'll get you back as soon as possible."

Thorin wondered whether his father would be angry with him that they had left Frerin in the forest, even if only for a short while.

"How is Balin doing?" he inquired, as if to take his father's mind off the topic. Thorin knew that Dwalin had to be anxious for news of his brother, as he was as well.

"The healer said that we found him just in time. It will take him a while to recover his full strength, but it looks like he didn't suffer anything life-threatening."

Dwalin exhaled a relieved sigh and Thorin thought he could almost hear the boulders tumbling from his heart. He was as glad as Dwalin to hear that Balin was seemingly doing alright. Now they only needed Frerin to get back safely as well - and the fact that Thráin himself had come, leaving Dís in the care of other dwarves, told him how much his father wanted it too.

Together they manoeuvred Frerin onto the sledge, despite his protests that he could walk just fine.

"That may be, but this way we'll be faster - and all of us need some warmth and a hot drink by now," Thráin told him gently.

"Alright." Frerin had seemingly noticed that it would simply be easier for all of them if he climbed on the sled and did as he was told.

With all of them helping and pulling together they made it back to the settlement in what seemed a very short amount of time to Thorin. They hurried towards their house, where Balin was currently getting a warm bath to help him warm up. At the door, Thráin expressed his utmost thanks to the dwarves that had come with him and bade them goodbye for the night. He and Thorin helped Frerin to limp inside where the rest of their extended family was already waiting for them.

Dís was sitting at her grandfather's side as their entered and, as soon as she caught sight of them, she ran towards her two brothers and her father with obvious relief in her expression. Frerin kept one arm slung around Thorin's shoulders but extended the other one to hug her tight.

" _Adad_ said you are hurt?" Dís sounded more curious than frightened at this stage, now that her brother was still clearly alive and back with her.

"Yeah, but not badly." Frerin smiled and ruffled her hair with his one arm. "I'll be good as new in no time, don't worry."

Dís nodded, although she was looking at Frerin's injured leg with close scrutiny, obviously not quite trusting his words.

"And even if you aren't, I don't mind," she finally declared, hugging him again. Frerin smiled at that and Thorin remembered all the dwarves they knew who had some sort of permanent injury - not least their own father with his missing eye. Even amongst the most skilled warriors, crafters and miners injuries could happen and no one should ever be treated differently for its consequences, they all thought.

After Dís had finally disentangled herself from her family they all led Frerin to the nearest chair that he sank into with an audible sigh. He still kept up the smile on his face, but Thorin could see the lines beneath it that the pain had edged into it, even though Frerin would never say anything. Thorin walked over so that he stood next to the chair on one side of his brother, their father on the other side and Dís close to Thorin.

Dwalin had left the living room of the house to go see to his brother who was by now in his own bed after a hot bath and being taken care of by their parents. Whilst the healer was looking at Frerin's leg, Frerin lifted his head to look at Thráin, seemingly trying to distract himself from the pain of the examination as the healer's fingers kept prodding the swollen flesh.

"Thank you for coming after us."

"Of course I did." Thráin's hand rested briefly on his son's shoulder. They all knew that he wasn't quite speaking the truth; he had been against the idea of going out in the middle of a snowstorm from the beginning after all, and Dís had still been here at their home as well. Once the news of Frerin's injury had reached him, however, there had apparently been no stopping him and Thorin felt a sliver of warmth run through him. It wasn't always as obvious to see how much their father truly cared.

Frerin jerked briefly as the healer touched an especially sore spot on his ankle. Thorin's and Thráin's hands flew to his shoulders almost in unison, the absolute synchronicity of the gesture making Thorin smile briefly.

"The leg's clearly broken, right above the ankle," the healer stated. "Luckily enough the bones are already in the right position and don't have to be set; but it will have to splintered and bound and it will be a while before you can walk properly again."

None of them were particularly surprised by the healer's announcement - from the way Frerin had been limping and the size his ankle had swollen to already in the short time since the accident it had to have been something serious. They were all glad to hear, however, that at least the bones seemed to be lying correctly and Thorin was already thinking about how he could keep his little brother from overdoing it and injuring himself further from sheer impatience with his healing body.

It didn't take the healer long to do as he had suggested. With a few stern warnings and instructions on what definitely _not_ to do the healer left them alone to check on Balin once more before returning to his own house. The settlement had slowly quieted down from all the excitement and Thorin felt a surge of tiredness run through his body despite the still early time. The excitement today had been more than enough for him and, as he guessed from the look on his family's faces, the others too.

"We should head to bed soon." Thráin suggested and everyone nodded. Thankfully they had eaten before Balin and Oda had headed off to check the traps and those none of them was going hungry anymore.

"C'mon." Thorin offered Frerin his arms so his little brother could hoist himself upright. They'd have to look for or make some crutches the next day, but for now Frerin was forced to hop along on his brother's arm. At least the distance to his bed was short enough and soon he was yawning as Thorin helped him under the covers. Dís insisted on sleeping at her brother's side that night and Thorin couldn't fault her. Normally all three sibling slept in the same room but in different beds unless they had to huddle against the cold - this night Thráin decided to stay with his children and Thorin, who still felt a strange restlessness underneath all his tiredness decided to go elsewhere. He made sure they were all safe and sound before heading over to Balin's room once more to see how he was doing after which he promised himself he would go to bed too. It had been a long day after all.

He met Dwalin right as his friend was exiting Balin's room, carefully closing the door behind him.

"He's asleep," Dwalin told him at Thorin's questioning glance. " _Adad_ is staying the night with him, but it would be too cramped for all of us."

"Same here," Thorin smiled. "My Da said I could use his room. I'm sure he wouldn't mind you using it too."

Dwalin nodded and they both made their way over to Thráin's room. It was tiny but it was his own for Thorin's father needed his own space and the quietness it afforded him. Thorin was the first of the two of them to climb into his father's bed and, after a short moment of hesitation, Dwalin followed. It was a rather narrow bed and Dwalin's attempts to stay as far away from Thorin as possible were almost comical.

"You afraid to sleep close to me now?" Thorin asked him, amusement lacing his voice. They had slept closely side by side countless times before, usually huddled against the cold of winter with the rest of their family.

"Uhm." Eloquently as ever, Dwalin somehow managed to sound a little embarrassed with just one word. "After today I wasn't sure..."

"Nonsense." Thorin didn't know why he was suddenly feeling so bold - usually Dwalin would be a lot more open than him in such situations. Maybe it was the tiredness or the scare they had been through today but suddenly he was tired of waiting. Dwalin as well, evidently, for he scooted a little closer so that he was lying comfortably on his side of the bed again.

Thorin took a deep breath and thought about how wrong this day could have gone, how quickly lives could be snuffed out by fate. Then he shuffled closer and wrapped an arm around Dwalin from behind. Dwalin stiffened but soon enough he relaxed again with a little sigh, not moving apart from what might have been a small movement closer towards Thorin. They both feel asleep within minutes.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all those of you right now thinking that walking on a broken leg/ankle by yourself is unrealistic: trust me, you can. I've done it (for a week to be exact) :P.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies that this took longer than usual - I am currently knee-deep in Dworin Week preparations plus lots of real life stuff so I slightly lost sight of it for a bit. I hope this chapter will make up for it though - I have been wanting to write this for a long, loooong time ;D.

After the initial shock of the near-catastrophe during that one winter night things returned to normality relatively quickly. Balin didn't take too long to recover - once the cold had been chased from his body and it was sure that he wouldn't lose any limbs or have any lasting after effects the only thing that remained was a lingering weakness in his body that let him tire easily for a while. Being that it was winter, however, there was not much hard physical labour to be done anyway; and so Balin often found himself helping with the thick ledgers that provided an overview over all their dealings with other folk and the few treaties they had already managed to make in the previous summer.

Balin had always liked to read and preferred it to many other pastimes - therefore it was no surprise the he took to the new task quickly and with a lot of enthusiasm. Soon it was clear that he would keep helping with all their financial and legal dealings even after he was well enough for other work again.

Frerin, on the contrary, was on the mend for much longer. The hardest part was to keep him sitting still to allow his leg to heal when all he wanted was to look after the ponies and play in the snow with his little sister and the other dwarflings; and unlike Balin he had much less patience for big ledgers and endless formulations of law in their treaties. It was Fundin who finally had the saving idea - he had an old whittling knife that he gave to Frerin together with a few blocks of wood still left from the summer.

Thorin's brother was skeptical at first, but quickly he discovered that he rather enjoyed the quick work with his fingers. When it turned out that several of the dwarrows that had followed them from their temporary shelter at the Iron Hills were rather skilled at whittling he didn't hesitate to ask for advice - Thorin had always admired that about his brother, how quickly he was able to turn to any person, no matter who, and strike up a companionship with them.

Frerin's first attempts were small - a little howling wolf, a small raven, a pony. Stylised figures that he spent days upon days working on whenever he had a spare minute, much to his family's joy. Dís and Thorin were the first ones to receive one of his little figurines - a wolf for Dís, and a raven for Thorin. Whereas Dís would pull out the little piece of wood at every single opportunity to play with it, Thorin kept the raven close to his heart, always in his pockets wherever he went and on his nightstand when he went to bed at night. Frerin, of course, noticed that he did so and although he never lost a word about it, Thorin could see the pride in his eyes at having made something that his brother and sister cherished so much.

Thankfully, there were no more catastrophes that winter - it was by far not as bad as the last and although they had to ration their food thoroughly, they were never forced to kill one of their ponies again out of sheer hunger. What helped was also that this winter seemed to be a lot milder and shorter than the previous ones and more than one dwarrow began to believe that maybe, their Maker was finally granting them some luck again.  

Neither Dwalin nor Thorin ever mentioned what had happened that one fateful day where Balin had gone missing in the snowstorm and Frerin had broken his leg. True, they often walked more closely together now and always found themselves sitting side by side during meals and in the evenings, but they never quite seemed to reach the point again where they had been at before, not least because it was always hard to find some time that belonged only to themselves.

They finally did when it was almost spring again - not exactly warm yet but the sun was finally high enough in the sky to begin melting the snow on the ground. Thorin was enjoying a few moments of peace and quiet after lunch before he would return to work - now that winter was slowly leaving it was time to carry out all the repairs the harsh weather had made necessary and all dwarves were busy trying to harness the first hours of sunshine as well as they could. Right now, however, Thorin sat on a large rock, leaning against the wall of their house in the sun and enjoying a quick pipe.

There were heavy steps on the ground and he didn't even have to look up to know that it was Dwalin - he would have recognised the sound of those steps anywhere. Dwalin settled down next to him, close enough to make their shoulders brush. He leaned against Thorin, attempting to make him move to the side.

"Scoot over," he told him and Thorin complied with a little laugh, but not without jostling Dwalin back a little. It would have ended in another of their many not-so-serious wrestling matches hadn't Thorin still held his smouldering pipe. Pipeweed was still something of a rarity, especially so close after the end of winter and Dwalin eyed the remnants in Thorin's pouch almost jealously. Thorin laughed again and offered the last of his pipeweed to him which Dwalin accepted after a moment of hesitation when it became clear that Thorin's offer wasn't just mere courtesy.

They smoked in silence for a while and suddenly Thorin was only too aware of the warmth of Dwalin's body pressed against his own. He swallowed, his own throat suddenly dry and his entire manner terribly self-conscious. Was he sitting too close? Did Dwalin maybe dislike the stink of his pipe? He turned his head a little to eye Dwalin, but his friend seemed to be completely relaxed and at peace with himself. Maybe it was just Thorin then. Maybe he had only imagined what had been between on that one winter day and of what had been growing there ever since.

Suddenly insecurity seemed to be flooding all over him, filling him with both dread and slight relief. If that was the case, maybe he could simply forget about his emotions and make them go away that way.

Dwalin, in the meantime, was completely unaware of Thorin's thoughts - he simply seemed to enjoy his pipe and Thorin's closeness. With a quiet hum on his breath he scooted just a tiny bit closer to Thorin until their shoulders were pressed firmly against each other. Thorin tried to suppress the slight shiver passing through him at the sensation. Some part of his mind wanted nothing more than to have all that warmth to himself, to be able to experience it every day and night.

"Dwalin?" he finally dared to ask. His voice sounded surprisingly firm.

"Hm?" Dwalin looked over at him with a small smile on his lips.

"Do you think you'll ever get married?" Thorin could have hit himself as soon as the words were over his lips. It sounded so much unlike anything he'd ever say that he wondered for an instant whether something was possessing his mind.

"Hu?" Dwalin's completely look of caught-off-guard-surprise almost made Thorin laugh. "Where did that just come from?"

"Sorry. Just...thinking random thoughts," Thorin admitted. Dwalin snorted.

"Very random, indeed." he laughed. Then his forehead creased slightly in thought when he was clearly pondering Thorin's question. He shrugged. "To be honest, I've never really thought about it, no. You?"

"I bet my  father would like to see it happen," Thorin gave a half-hearted smile. "Securing the line and all that. I don't think I've ever really considered it though."

His answer was the truth - no matter what he might feel for Dwalin at the moment, things like marriage or a partnership bond were something completely different from that. The long-term commitment connected with it scared him slightly, if he had to be honest.

"Maybe, one day it'll all happen and seem very natural," Dwalin said, a strange glimmer in his eyes. This time it was Thorin's turn to shrug.

"Maybe."

"But for now...let's just enjoy the sunshine and the fact that winter is over."

"Mhmm."

They both took up their pipes again and Thorin had to use all the strength he had left to keep his ears from burning in embarrassment. Since when was it so hard for him to hold a normal conversation with Dwalin? Usually Dwalin was the one he  always felt most at ease with, even when talking about strange or normally uncomfortable topics.

Thorin's pipe seemed at an end far too early and with regret he thought that he should get up again to continue his work for the day. He made a move to tip out the charred remnants of his pipe weed and was surprised when Dwalin's hand brushed his in a similar movement. They both paused, suddenly almost intimidated by the physical contact that usually came so natural between them. Neither of them moved their hands, however, and almost as if on command their palms turned, so that more of their fingers would brush against each other.

As quickly as blinking, the magic was suddenly back – that anticipation of the winter night and the strange fluttering in Thorin’s stomach as time seemed to suddenly become brittle and lose all meaning. He took the pipe into his other hand and tucked it away, Dwalin mirroring his movements, their hands still remaining pressed against each other.

It was Thorin who first palmed Dwalin’s finger in his own, but it was Dwalin who asked.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.” The reply sounded uncomfortably loud in his ears, but Thorin couldn’t help but follow it with a small laugh. It was like Dwalin to ask for permission first – and maybe that was the reason why he was the only person that Thorin would have given a ‘yes’ as answer to.

Their foreheads were the first things that connected – gently, and at the same moment that their fingers intertwined. Thorin found himself laughing again, a quiet laugh that was mirrored by Dwalin with the widest smile that he had ever seen. He looked up, straight into Dwalin’s eyes, and found himself drawn inside and underwater by the swirling sparks in them. Neither of them wanted to break the magic, moving closer ever so slowly, until Dwalin was forced to tilt his head to avoid their noses crashing together.

Thorin could feel Dwalin’s warm breath on his skin, already so familiar as if they had done this a thousand times before. He could sense more laughter bubbling up inside him, disbelief about what was happening - both that it was happening now already and that it had taken them so long to get there.

Their lips were hesitant at first, only brushing against each other. Thorin felt a shiver run down his back at the sensation. His lips were tingling and he could taste Dwalin on them - an earthy taste, iron and rock and a deep steadiness, stronger than the highest mountain.

"Alright?" he asked Dwalin and this time it was him who let out a small laugh and nodded lightly. They kissed again, this time properly, their lips touching for more than only the space of a single thought.

Dwalin's taste was back, stronger this time, and Thorin couldn't help but increase the pressure of his hand around Dwalin's fingers. His friend made a low sound in his throat and one of Dwalin's hands came up to rest on Thorin's cheek, thumb brushing lightly over his beard. Thorin leaned into the sensation, savouring it just as he savoured the touch of Dwalin's lips and the taste of him inside his mouth. It all felt right, so terribly right - something that had been bound to happen for a long time and was as natural in their relationship as anything. And yet he could not deny the flutters of excitement running through him either. Dwalin's thoughts evidently ran along similar lines.

"Took us long enough, didn't it," he whispered with a little laugh when they separated again.

"Almost too long." Thorin grinned back. "I was thinking...I thought it was just me."

"And here I thought the line of Durin was blessed with intelligence."

Thorin snorted and cuffed Dwalin on the back of his head. "That we kissed doesn't mean you can insult my forbearers. Which, by the way, are your forbearers as well."

"I never said I had much sense." Dwalin grinned cheekily.

"Clearly." Thorin sniffed and laughed. Now that they had gone past the awkwardness from earlier, everything seemed almost the same as it had been before, the same easiness between them that always made it so comfortable for him to be around Dwalin.

"I'm taking it that you chose me for my good looks then, not for the brains." Dwalin wriggled his eyebrows, sending Thorin into another bout of laughter. One could have almost called them giggles but of course a prince of the Line of Durin didn't _giggle_. He simply...let out a rather high-pitched laugh.

"You're a dolt." Thorin lifted his hand and took a few strands of Dwalin's hair into his fingers, almost as intimate a gesture as kissing amongst them dwarrows. Maybe even more so since kisses could be given quickly and freely, but to touch one's hair required yet another, different level of trust.

Thorin tugged lightly at the strands until Dwalin leaned close again. Thorin kissed him lightly on the lips, marvelling at the fact that he was able to do it now. A distant part of him wondered if it would always be this way or if things would change one day - after all, luck had never been known to be part of the Line of Durin for too long...

"And you are thinking too much." Dwalin's fingers softly wandered over Thorin's hand that was still tangled in his hair. Finally he took careful hold of his wrist and brought Thorin's hand to his lips, gently kissing his knuckles one by one. His eyes sparkled when he looked up at Thorin again, both reverence and a mischievous sparkle in them as he added: "My prince."

"'Thorin' is fine, you know." Thorin took a hold of his hand and wrapped his fingers around both Dwalin's hand and his own. "In fact, I'd rather prefer it if there was no difference in standing between us. Especially when we are alone."

Dwalin gave a quiet laugh at that.

"I expected you to say that," he admitted. "But I wanted to hear it from you."

"Mhmmm." Thorin shifted his position so that he wasn't looking at him any longer, but instead leaning his shoulder against Dwalin's. Somehow, when he looked out from their seat onto the meadow and houses beyond, he felt as if everything had a much more intense quality - the snow seemed whiter, the first edges of the grass greener and the sun even stronger than before. As if the entire day had suddenly gained in intensity and quality whilst he wasn't looking.

Question still kept swirling trough Thorin's head, questions about what the future would hold for them and if whatever it was that was developing between them had any chance to survive. He had never wished to be able to see the future as much as he did now.

"You are thinking again." Dwalin laughed softly. "You always have that slight frown on your face when you do."

"I do?" Thorin wondered for a moment just how closely Dwalin had to have been watching him for him to be so intimately familiar with his moods. The thought that someone had gotten so deeply under his skin should have made him feel vulnerable, but oddly it didn't. Dwalin was perhaps the only one who he would ever trust this much, knowing that he would never use any weakness of Thorin's to his own advantage.

"Yep, you do. You also have a way of cocking your head slightly whenever you dislike something. Makes you look like a curious raven," Dwalin said with quiet laughter. Thorin elbowed him into the ribs but couldn't quite hold back a smile of his own.

"I suppose I should take it as a compliment that you compared me to a raven," he grinned. Dwalin nodded, trying to appear utterly serious.

"You, on the contrary," Thorin continued, "look like a wolf with its hackles up every time somebody annoys you. And you tend to snort a lot."

As if to underline Thorin's words, Dwalin did indeed snort, caught himself halfway through it and sounded like a dying horse for a moment as he tried to abort the sound. Thorin tried hard not to break out into howling laughter, although he was only half successful. Dwalin glared at him for a moment whilst he was recovering his voice.

"Wolf and raven, then," he mused. "Well, we make a nice complimentary pair, I guess."

"Truly, we do." Thorin had almost forgotten that he was still holding Dwalin's fingers and squeezed them tightly, more than a little giddy when he felt Dwalin squeezing back.

Dwalin was just about to reply when there was a shout and someone came whizzing around the corner of their house. It was Dís, staring at them in wide-eyed wonder. Thorin made a move as if to withdraw his hand from Dwalin's but then forced himself to leave it there - if he could not show courage in front of his own sister, then where could he?

"Why are you holding hands?" Dís asked them, curiosity in her voice.

"Because...we like each other a lot," Dwalin told her. Thorin nodded.

"Like Ma and Da used to," he added. Dís took their answers in and then frowned.

"But you've liked each other like that for a long time now. So why did you start holding hands now?" Dís seemed to be honestly confused about the situation. Dwalin and Thorin simply looked at each other, at a loss for words.

"Uhm..."

"Well." Dís shrugged. " _Adad_ sent me to find you, he said he needs some help with the wood from the old shed. He can't take it down by himself."

"Alright, we're coming." Thorin let go of Dwalin's hand, not without a faint feeling of regret. He thought he could still feel Dwalin's lips touching his own and the memory alone already made him smile. He looked next to him and saw that Dwalin was practically glowing as well. He didn't grab his hand again but instead brushed their shoulders, firmly, so that there could be no doubt that what had just happened between them was more than the fancy of a moment.

Dwalin simply smiled and leaned into him for a moment as they were walking.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dworin Week over + 4 1/2 hour train ride today = new B&B chapter! =D They are akward and so, SO YOUNG (warning for vaguely sexual content. Ayuhhhh).

Neither Dwalin nor Thorin made any big announcements after that one fateful afternoon and although little in their day to day behaviour around each other changed and they hadn’t even begun courting officially yet, their relatives and friends all seemed to notice within a single week. Most responses included either a hug or a shoulder pat, interspersed by a few rather overenthusiastic congratulations that almost wanted to make them both hide their heads in embarrassment. For most of the dwarrows, that was all the reaction they showed, since private matters usually stayed private amongst them – not so, however, for Frerin.

“So how far along are you two?” he asked them one day as the three of them were repairing some of their tools outside in the summer sunshine together. They were all sitting side by side and nothing indicated that Dwalin and Thorin were more than friends, if it weren’t for the small glances they threw at each other from time to time.

“What do you mean?” Thorin replied, at the same time that Dwalin snorted.

“Well, you know…” Frerin didn’t look the least bit abashed when he wriggled his eyebrows and made rather vague hand motions. “When you’re courting don’t you get kinda…physical?”

Thorin lowered the tools in his hands and, very slowly, looked up at his brother. Dwalin snorted again and it sounded suspiciously like he was trying to smother his laughter behind the shaft of an axe.

“I can’t believe you’re asking this.” Thorin was now positively gaping at Frerin, feeling both vaguely embarrassed and caught out.

“So?” Frerin was completely unfazed. “I’m your brother, aren’t you supposed to share all kinds of stuff with me?”

“Yeah, but not…that.” Thorin forced his gaze back onto his hands again and continued with his task.

“I was just asking.” Frerin shrugged, but the smirk didn’t leave his face. Thorin forced himself to keep staring at the work in front of him and not satisfy his brother with a single answer. He could still hear Dwalin laughing slightly next to him and shot him an angry glance as well which seemed to have absolutely no effect whatsoever. He fervently wished that he had Dwalin’s ease when it came to matters of more physical nature, but he felt that he was still nervous even when they were doing nothing but _kissing_. Not that he’d show it, often he was even the one who initiated it, but he was still afraid of doing something wrong. As if a single movement could shatter the little piece of happiness they had managed to carve out for themselves. Not to mention that he was still sure he would disappoint Dwalin _somehow_ even if he didn’t know how.

“Well, then stop asking. At least about _this_.” Thorin finally shot back.

“You’re as grumpy as _adad_.” Frerin murmured in a slightly insulted tone. Thorin didn’t even attempt to answer at first, just glaring at his brother from time to time and trying to ignore Dwalin’s still obvious mirth.

“Don’t tell me you’ve asked him about what he used to do with _amad_.” Thorin recoiled on the inside when he imagined his father’s completely scandalised face. “You know how pebbles are made. I’m sure Master Arvin covered that in your classes as well as they did in mine and as I recall they were quite thorough with their teachings.”

The fact that dwarves didn’t enjoy talking about sexual matters didn’t mean that they knew nothing about them – on the contrary. They had long realised that it was far easier to let their young ones know everything so that they would not endanger themselves accidentally one day by simply not knowing. To Thorin’s surprise and barely hidden schadenfreude, Frerin’s ears assumed a light shade of pink. It was as flummoxed as Thorin had ever seen his brother.

“I would never.” Frerin murmured. “But you’re my brother and so I-“

“No. No questions about… _private_ matters. Of that kind. At all. Understood?” The situation was so strange that Thorin was half laughing when he said it, although his tone was sufficiently serious to make his brother sigh and nod as he returned to the work on his own lap. Thorin was fairly sure he could hear Frerin murmur something about ‘ _spoilsport_ ’ and ‘ _no sense of humour_ ’ under his breath but pointedly chose to ignore it.

Dwalin had remained silent throughout the entire exchange but the amusement in his face was palpable as he was still chuckling to himself from time to time. Thorin wished he could box him in the ribs but sadly he was sitting too far away. He shook his head and went back to his own work, hoping fervently that Frerin would come up with no more ‘interesting’ questions.

That evening Dwalin brought up the subject again when they were alone; at some time during early summer the layouts of their rooms had changed and Thorin and Dwalin were now sharing their own room, especially since they had been able to increase the size of their families’ house over the summer and add more rooms in the back. Frerin and Dis still occupied the same room together – neither of the sibling had quite wanted to separate to sleep in different rooms just yet and the one that Thorin and Dwalin used were right next to it. Balin now had his own small chamber as did, of course, most of the other dwarves in their family. Nár was one of the few of their original travelling group who had moved away from the house of Dwalin’s and Thorin’s family after the first winter – his niece and her wife had been two of the first settlers to arrive from the Iron Hills and he had soon joined them and their young son who was barely out of his swaddling clothes as of yet.

Although most dwarrows were social people in need of regular contact with their own especially since the fall of the mountain, many of them also preferred at least a sliver of time to themselves, often to work on their crafts but many a time simply to find some peace and a moment to collect their thoughts. Thorin in particular had learnt that, after the coming of the dragon, he enjoyed silence more than anything else – in the first year after the attack he had almost been afraid of it since he had expected it to be broken any time by the roar of a dragon and the screams of his people. Nowadays, however, silence had become a good thing for him – it meant that peace, or at least a measure of it, had returned to their lives at last. Dwalin was the only one he could truly share that silence with, often sitting side by side with him so that their body warmth flowed into each other until he almost felt like there was a measure of peace inside him again.

Tonight the two of them were sitting side by side on the large bed in the middle of their room, Dwalin finishing up the mending of some clothes and Thorin polishing some of their leather items.

“So what Frerin asked earlier…” Dwalin began hesitantly, eyes focused on the work in front of him.

“Yeah?” Thorin tried to make his voice sound easy and relaxed but he couldn’t help the slight pinch of nervousness in it. “Sorry for that again, by the way.”

Dwalin shrugged and laughed.

“It’s _Frerin_ ,” he said, as if that would explain everything. “Honestly, he wouldn’t be Frerin if he _hadn’t_ asked.”

Thorin grinned in response, glad that Dwalin didn’t seem to have taken any offense by his brother’s questions. Dwalin’s face, however, grew serious again within moments and there was a nervousness and almost dread in his voice now that Thorin hadn’t heard there before.

“So, are you…I mean…am I moving too slowly for you?” Dwalin finally brought out.

“Hu?” Thorin was confused for a moment.

“I mean, with…getting physical and all that.” Dwalin made some nervous hand gestures and Thorin almost had to hold back a laugh – he had never seen him this insecure before. He wondered what might have made Dwalin think this way – had Thorin signalled displeasure without knowing? Had he not told Dwalin often enough that things were going perfectly for him as it was? Had he made him unhappy? The doubts began piling up in his head until Thorin barely saw what he was polishing in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I should have told you that I like things going the way they are.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” Dwalin said, frowning. “But I know you. You don’t…you don’t always say you dislike something in order to make others happy.”

Thorin looked up at him, confused. He hadn’t really noticed that he did what Dwalin just told him – for him it had always been natural to put his own needs behind everyone else’s. It was one of his responsibilities as a prince after all, to make sure that his people were happy.

“But I _am_ happy, with you here.” He felt almost helpless as he uttered the words.

Dwalin hesitated for a moment, the gaze from his grey eyes meeting Thorin’s as he searched in his face for something Thorin wasn’t sure he actually found.

“Truly? You have to promise me, Thorin. Promise me that you’ll say if there’s anything you don’t like. We’re both equally important in this new thing between us.”

“Promise.” Thorin gave him a small smile. Then he took a deep breath. “And you? Are you okay with how things are going?”

“Of course.” Dwalin gave him a crooked smile back. “I’ll tell you if I feel uncomfortable. As long as you do the same. “

“Good.” Thorin exhaled loudly, mentally cursing his brother for making him go through an awkward conversation with Dwalin. He shuffled his position slightly so that his and Dwalin’s shoulders were touching before he picked up the leather and polishing rag again. Dwalin leaned into him for a moment before he continued as well, humming quietly under his breath as he carefully set the stitches on the shirt he was currently working on. It helped Thorin to ban the doubts from his mind that he had been doing something wrong over the past months – as much as he enjoyed the newly found intimacy with Dwalin, it was also still new for both of them and often enough he felt terribly insecure. Dwalin had always appeared much more confident to him, but today had shown that maybe all his confidence was nothing but a mask as well.

The intimacy between them slowly became more normal over the course of the summer as they became more attuned to each other. Thorin discovered to his surprise that Dwalin loved to be kissed on his nose and forehead and delighted in fulfilling that particular wish of Dwalin’s whenever he had the time. In turn, he realised that his favourite place for Dwalin to touch him was his hair and the skin of his scalp underneath. He had never thought that someone massaging his scalp could be so relaxing; now he often groaned in pleasure when he stretched out on their bed after a long day, his head in Dwalin’s lap, as Dwalin began to spoil him.

The settlement was still flourishing, slowly but surely – another string of settlers arrived from the Iron Hills that summer, spurred on by the news that their kin seemed to be doing well, even though the prosperity of the mountain that they had once lived in was still nothing but a by now slowly fading memory. With them came more dwarflings and the workers that they thoroughly needed, but also a devastating bit of news for Dwalin’s family – as many of them had feared, Farin had returned to stone shortly after the beginning of the New Year. Fundin grieved for his father and for months Thorn could see the guilt in his eyes that he had not been there at Farin’s last moments and could not perform the rituals that were necessary as the closest relative after his father had died. To be buried in foreign stone, far away from both home and family…a shadow fell over Fundin’s face that summer and it would take years to fully disappear.

Thorin tried to be as much comfort as he could to Dwalin and his family and even Thráin made it plain that he was trying to comfort his friend Fundin in his own particular way. There was little to be done, however, apart from simply being there for the family, who all had different ways of dealing with their grief. For Varna and Fundin it meant much to be able to relate Farin’s memory to others and talk about him a lot; Dwalin returned from their tattoo maker one day with the symbol for his grandfather on his upper arm, right next to that of his grandmother. Balin, in turn, began writing a small chronicle about his family, talking not only about Fundin, but also all the other relatives that had left them already.

For some reason, to Thorin it never seemed entirely the right time to take things further between them than they already had. Dwalin seemed to feel similar – he appeared to be rather content with kissing and generally being close to each other when it was only the two of them. It was on one of those evenings late in the summer when the first hint of autumn cold was blowing through their settlement that they were lying closely together again. They had spent the day helping to strengthen the walls of the new stable for the ponies against the autumn storms that would soon come down the flanks of the Misty Mountains and were thus rather exhausted.

Thorin began kissing Dwalin’s nose again, small and lazy kisses, moving slowly across Dwalin’s cheek and then towards his ear. He bit down hesitantly on Dwalin’s earlobe, as somehow he felt like it was the right thing to do – and was promptly rewarded with Dwalin breathing in sharply. He chuckled and bit down more forcefully, his fingers finding Dwalin’s beard and pulling softly.  Dwalin moaned something under his breath, before his own fingers snaked up and found the soft skin of Thorin’s neck, massaging gently at first and then more strongly. Thorin grinned and began to use his tongue, tasting the sweat from Dwalin’s skin and the metal of his ear clasp which he pulled at lightly with his teeth. Dwalin made a strangled little sound, something that Thorin had rarely heard before and made him smile. _So it’s the ears for him_ , he thought amusedly.

“Seems like I found you secret weakness,” he murmured and was rewarded with a quiet curse from Dwalin as he caressed his lobes again.

“Not _fair_ ,” Dwalin gasped back. Thorin laughed.

Dwalin’s hand on Thorin’s neck began to slowly wander downwards until they found the edges of Thorin’s shirt. With a questioning glance at Thorin and after a nod from him Dwalin began to pull off the shirt, his hands wandering over Thorin’s body. It wasn’t long until they were both shirtless, eating each other up with their eyes. Of course Thorin had seen Dwalin shirtless before, even fully naked – nobody wore clothes in the steams of Erebor and everybody always bathed together in them. This, however, seemed different somehow, like that time when they had sparred outside and found themselves lying in the grass afterwards.

Thorin swallowed and reached out with his hand to brush the coarse hair on Dwalin’s chest, feeling the tattoos and the slight puckering of the skin where there were a few scars with his fingertips. Dwalin stared at him and mirrored his movements. Thorin wondered what he was thinking – he knew that they were all thinner than dwarves should normally be, thanks to the rationing in winter, but at least they had all been bulking up over the summers now. He hoped that Dwalin liked what he saw.

“You’re beautiful,” Dwalin said with a glint in his eyes, as if he had heard Thorin’s thoughts.

“Shut up.” Thorin kissed him, underlining his words and Dwalin grumbled a laugh deep inside his throat. His fingers circled around Thorin’s nipples and Thorin could feel a shudder running through him. Dwalin grinned and immediately focused his attention there, first with his fingertips and then with his mouth, making Thorin moan deep inside his throat. He could feel the throbbing between his legs, an almost physical pain that he still didn’t quite know how to deal with. Dwalin’s fingers nestled at his belt and finally pulled the fabric off, a few strokes already enough to bring Thorin to completion, as he realised rather embarrassingly. Still, the sparks exploding in front of his eyes and the wave of absolute elation that swept through him had certainly been worth it. Thorin could see that Dwalin’s pants were bulging equally and he lost no time in repeating the favour – knowing that his movements were still unexperienced he only hoped that Dwalin would feel the same pleasure he just had.

There was a groan from deep inside Dwalin’s throat as he came and Thorin could feel the shudders running through his partner’s body. He kissed him again and Dwalin smiled into the kiss before they both reluctantly moved away from each other to clean up themselves, their clothes and the bed.

“Did we just have sex?” The words were out of Thorin’s mouth before he could think properly about them. Dwalin straightened up to look at him and then down at the rag in his hand and up at him again.

“I have no fucking idea,” he finally admitted. Thorin shrugged – neither did he, to be honest. Did it count when it was done only by hand? Not that he would ever ask anybody the question. Dwalin frowned as he looked at him, seemingly pondering the same question in his head. Then he laughed, and after a moment Thorin joined in.

“Anyway, I liked it,” Dwalin admitted after they had both calmed down again, put on fresh nightclothes and moved back to bed again, Dwalin’s head nestled in the crook of Thorin’s arm and shoulder, hair spread across his chest.

“You sure?” Thorin asked, pressing a kiss to the bald part of Dwalin’s head next to his Mohawk.

“Mhmmm.”

“Me too,” Thorin admitted. “Maybe, with some more practise, we’ll get even better.”

“I’m sure we will.” Dwalin grinned cheekily. Thorin laughed and boxed him in the side, wondering if he was even allowed to feel this happy once in a while after all the terrible things that had happened. Maybe, just this once, it would be alright.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ivana wanted more kisses, so I gladly obliged xD. And dwarves in my head are mostly demi- or asexual so yeah, there usually wouldn’t be much going on with masturbating and co which is why this is still all a rather new experience for both Dwalin and Thorinm. And yes yes I know Farin died at a different time after Tolkien’s timeline but it fit better here, shhhhhh


	36. Chapter 36

The biggest problem that persisted was the presence of the mountain clans. Some of the Rohirrim had warned them that the wilderness of Dunland and the Misty Mountains was inhabited by wild clans who would frequently come and rob the things they needed for a living rather than grow or buy them. The dwarves had nodded and thanked them for their warning, but quietly gone on their way anyway – they knew well enough what sort of rumours could float around if one folk had become estranged from another. Perhaps, the only reason the mountain people stole was because nobody had _tried_ to trade with them for decades now.

The first winter the snow was too deep and their riches too few to attract any serious trouble. In the year that followed, the caravans of the arriving people from the Iron Hills had been heavily guarded and were only attacked once or twice, the perpetrators easily fended off. They never truly saw much of their attackers, most of them wearing shawls or pieces of cloth wrapped around the lower halves of their faces and retreating quickly when they noticed that the dwarves were giving them more trouble than it was worth.

The attacks only began to pick up in the following years, as the settlement grew in size and productivity. First it was only small things – a single traveller robbed on the road, carts of wares going missing. Then, however, the attackers seemed to come at them with more and more ferocity and although their settlement, now secured by a thick fence made of sharpened tree stems, was never subject to a direct assault, the losses to their people and trading caravans began to be noticeable.

Finally, after two of their guards had died and an entire load of grain had been stolen, the dwarves had enough. Protests grew louder and eventually even reached King Thrór’s ears on one of the days when his mind seemed to be able to remember who he had once been. That evening, as they all came together for the one meal of the day they always made sure to take together, Thráin and Fundin deliberately led the conversation towards the topic of the Dunlendings.

“We could try and follow them to where their own settlements are and attack full force, wounding them or scaring them enough so they will leave us in peace,” Nár suggested.

“And risk a war? We don’t even know whether they have a single settlement or how many there are of them,” Varna interjected. “It doesn’t…seem right.”

“What else should we do?” Thráin asked. “The attacks need to stop – we are losing both our soldiers and our wares to them and can afford neither, especially if another hard winter should hit us.”

“We could strengthen the guards – deploy more guards per caravan.” This was Fundin’s voice. Thorin looked over from Fundin to his own father and saw Thráin frowning slightly and then shaking his head.

“No. We are operating close to full capacity as it is already – if we start forcing even more soldiers and guards to go, we will at one point have too few to defend the settlement should an attack come here.”

Thorin nodded along with his father – he was of the same opinion. They couldn’t afford even more dwarves gone from their little settlement, especially not the soldiers.

“Why do we not send a trading delegation to them?” Balin spoke up, holding firm when everyone’s gaze turned in his direction. In the years since they had settled here, he had become more and more self-confident about voicing his opinion in important situations, encouraged by his parents and the scribes and chroniclers that he was working with.

“A trading delegation?” Varna frowned. “And how can we be sure that they simply won’t be attacked just like everyone else?”

“And where would they go?” Nár chimed in. “We have no guidance as to where they came from and the mountains and countryside could hide hundreds of them in their little valleys.”

“First of all, if we do not appear ready to attack when they come, they might notice that we are coming in peace.” Balin answered. “Secondly, I am sure they will notice us if we just come close enough and will let them seek us out themselves. Thirdly – yes it is a risk, but less so than being attacked every single time we send a trade caravan somewhere. We can take the risk once or keep fighting for the rest of our lives.”

Nár opened his mouth to speak again, but Thrán raised one of his hands to interrupt him.

“So you suggest that we attempt to set up a trade deal with the Dunlendings?” he asked again. Balin nodded in reply, seemingly not deterred by Thráin’s grave expression. Thráin’s eyes kept boring into his and Thorin couldn’t imagine the pressure that Balin had to be feeling at this moment. He knew all too well what it was like to be under his father’s full scrutiny.

“A small party,” Balin said. “Not too many and not all of them fully armoured guards either. In fact I suggest as little armour as possible so we don’t appear threatening. We can start wherever the attacks happen most often and once we have made contact we can ask to see their regent or the captains of their clans. They speak Westron; we know that. Therefore we will be able to communicate. And where there is communication…there might be a way.”

Dwalin nodded slowly at his brother’s words, his forehead creased in thought. For a moment nobody spoke as they all tried to process what Balin had just suggested.

“What guarantee do we have that this will work?” Thráin asked quietly. “I won’t send any of our people to their deaths unnecessarily.”

“None,” Balin replied bluntly. “But I think it’s worth trying – the benefits, if we succeed, are huge. And I remember more than one folk that we would have liked to trade with since we left Erebor who never gave us the chance and viewed us as evil.”

Those last words of his made silence descend onto the room as everyone found themselves thrown back to times when they had been in desperate need for money and food, only to see that others were reacting with such mistrust to them that even entering any trade negotiations had been all but impossible. 

“But we never outright attacked anyone,” Fundin interjected. “even if worst came to worst.”

“If this had gone on for decades though, who could’ve said what we would have done?” Thorin spoke up. He remember the feeling of helpless rage at the hunger on his siblings’ faces all too well. Of course he liked to think that he would always have held honour above all else and done ‘the right thing’, but if he was completely honest with himself, he couldn’t be sure. He would have given up his own life to see his siblings safe. Thráin narrowed his eyes at his son’s words, but didn’t outright object to his claim which was answer enough to Thorin.

“It’s worth a try, I believe.” Everyone turned towards Thrór, not having expected their king to take an active part in the conversation. Nowadays he seldomly did, as his mind seemed to keep slipping away more and more each day. “We have to protect what is ours.”

“And who should be part of such an endeavour?” Thráin asked.

“I will go.” Balin replied matter-of-factly. “It was my suggestion and as such, I am willing to take responsibility for it.”

“I will accompany him,” Dwalin spoke up, his tone accepting no argument against him.

“I will go too. We will need at least one member of the royal family.” Thorin stated. He knew that his father would be needed to guide the settlement and although nobody would say it out loud, they would not be able to accept Thrór going. And his siblings, so Thorin felt, were still too young.

Thráin nodded, as if he hadn’t expected anything else from them. Before anybody else could speak, he raised his hand.

“We will introduce the suggestion at the next settlement meeting tomorrow. Then we will ask for volunteers to accompany the travelling group and make our plans from there.”

 It was clear by then that no more would be said on the matter that evening and Thorin went to bed with a strange fluttering in his stomach. Peace with the Dunlendings…he wondered if it was possible, despite Balin’s apparent optimism.

“Do you think the plan will work?” he asked Dwalin who was lying next to him, clearly half asleep already.

“Dunno,” Dwalin yawned, scooting slightly closer to Thorin. “Worth a try though, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. Probably.” Thorin frowned, his thoughts turning over and over, trying to think of ways of how they could guarantee this mission to be a successful one.

“I hope it’ll work,” he couldn’t keep himself from adding. The only reply that he received was the sound of Dwalin’s snores filling the room.

*

In the end, they were a small party of seven that made their way out of the village and towards where they hoped to find the Dunlendings who had been attacking their caravans again and again. Apart from Thorin, Balin and Dwalin they were joined by young Oda who wanted to prove herself and her newly acquired skills as a guard; Róa who hoped to be of help during the negotiations with her woodworking skills, one that was easy to demonstrate in front of audiences; and two more volunteers from amongst the dwarves of the settlement, both guards who were eager to protect those who were going to negotiate, having at least some hope that Balin’s plan would prove successful.

Thorin knew exactly why his father had agreed to let them go on their own, with Róa as by far the oldest in their group. Thráin was aware that at some point, the younger dwarves would have to be able to prove themselves without any of the older adults constantly loitering around them. And to carry out and go through with a plan that they had themselves devised seemed to be the perfect opportunity. They had thought and talked about what a potential trade agreement could encompass and what kind of concessions they were willing to make with most of the dwarrows in the settlement so that they could make sure they would reach a solution that was satisfactory for everyone.

The first few days of their trip were uneventful, although Thorin wasn’t the only one who was more than once assaulted by memories of their flight from Erebor and the subsequent journey from the Iron Hills. He had to keep reminding himself that they had a home to return to now, even if it was just a temporary one, and that his nightmares where he kept running without nowhere to come from and nowhere to go were simply that – nightmares. He knew that the others felt similarly – often enough the conversation around their fireplace at night would turn towards the new home they had made for themselves here in Dunland and how it was hopefully going to prosper in the coming years.

Thorin could see the light in Róa’s eyes as she talked about Hulda and how their little family was slowly growing closer again. He wasn’t the only one who was sure that they would soon be trying for a child, a sibling for young Dori since Hulda had proven once before that she seemed to be able to bear a child with remarkably little trouble for dwarrows. Oda seemed to be happy as well, now that some time since she had first arrived had passed and the anxiety of the first years was slowly wearing off – and Thorin wasn’t the only one who had seen her glancing at a young jeweller called Vigdís more than once although she yet seemed to be paradoxically shy about talking to the young dwarrowdam. Dwalin teased her gently about it, remarking how it seemed to be so at odds with her usual almost brash personality.

“Are you sure you’re the one to talk?” Oda fired back, eyebrows raised.

“Hu?” Dwalin looked honestly astonished although Thorin was fairly sure that he knew where this was going.

“Well, you know, you and Thorin…” she wriggled her eyebrows. Thorin could hear a snort from next to him and turned his head just quickly enough to see Róa trying to stifle a laugh behind her hand. “It took you how many years?”

“Are you implying I was too scared to ask him?” Dwalin shot back.

“Certainly looked like it.” Oda grinned.

Dwalin made an indignant noise whilst Thorin tried to hide his embarrassment. He hadn’t known that the two of them had been so _obvious_. Had they been the subject of gossip amongst all the dwarves around them? Back in Erebor, the royal family and, by extension, the royal line had been slightly more secluded from the other dwarves than they were after the mountain fell. They hadn’t chosen to be that way – but all the duties, especially on Thorin’s shoulders, and the high expectations placed on him had left little time to socialise with anybody else. Now the dwarves had all moved even more closely together and the lines between royalty and non-royalty had blurred, if not disappeared almost completely at least amongst the younger ones.

The new-found companionship still felt strange to Thorin and unlike Dwalin, he was rather self-conscious about everything he said and how he behaved. Dwalin, in contrast, seemed as boisterous as ever, immediately falling into conversations with people and drawing them in naturally. Sometimes Thorin was jealous, wishing that he could be so natural with everyone around him. Then, however, he thought that he might not have the time to become friendly with everyone once he was crown prince and, one day, king.

“How far do you estimate we are from the nearest Dunlending settlement?” Thorin asked, trying to lead the conversation away from the topic at hand. He would not discuss his and Dwalin’s private life in front of others.

“I don’t know.” Balin shook his head, apparently also grateful to move on from the subject. “But we should be getting close now. The most recent attacks on the caravans didn’t occur far from here. Who knows, we might be watched even now…”

The dwarves unconsciously huddled more closely together at Balin’s words. None of them liked the idea of being watched without knowing it and Thorin felt as if an arrow could at any moment be lodged between his shoulder blades.

“Well, I hope they know that we come in peace,” he replied, a lot louder than necessary. Maybe those who might be watching them would hear and understand.

“Yeah.” The others nodded and Oda threw another piece of wood onto their fire, making sparks rise up in the rapidly darkening night sky. They set the teams and their shifts for the nightly watch to make sure that nothing would surprise them throughout the dark hours. Oda and Róa chose to keep the first watch, giving the others opportunity to sleep. They soon made their way to their bedrolls, the exhaustion from the day slowly kicking in.

Thorin could hear the two dwarrowdams quietly talking to each other and the sounds of their footsteps as they rounded their small camp from time to time to make sure that everything was alright. It took him a while, but finally he dropped off into light slumber in the end although part of him always seemed to be ready to jump up and defend the lives of the others with all he had if necessary.

He woke up again when Balin’s loud shouts rang through the camp. Without thinking, he rolled up into a standing position, gripping his sword in the same movement. Thankfully a dwarrow’s eye sight was always clear at night and so he could see within moments what was happening. All the dwarves had now closed ranks, their fingers clenched around the hilts of their weapons.

There were shadows closing in around them, far more than their small number of only seven dwarves. For a single moment Thorin thought they might be orcs – but their silhouettes and the way they were moving soon told him that they were indeed from the folk of men.

“Lower your weapons!” Balin shouted, towards their opponents as much as to his fellow dwarrows. “We are not here to fight!”

Thorin’s heart was beating fast and loud and he had to force himself to lower his weapon closer to the ground, even though the anxiety made his throat go dry. He could feel Dwalin’s movement next to him and how his axe was still raised in his hands. He brushed against his shoulder with his own and could almost feel the immense effort it took Dwalin to finally bring his weapons closer to the ground as well.

“We do not want war!” Thorin shouted as well. “We are here to talk!”

There was still no reaction from the shades around them, but they did not sprint forward to attack either. In fact, Thorin could see that they weren’t moving at all from where they were standing. He took a deep breath and spoke again.

“We simply want to trade! No more fighting!” Inside he prayed that they would believe what he was saying. Taking a deep breath he took a step forward, away from the reassuring weight of the dwarves next to him.

“Thorin!” He could hear Dwalin’s horrified whisper behind him. His heart hammering in his chest, Thorin put his sword on the ground in front of him before straightening up again. _Just this once_ , he thought. _Just this once I will try and trust somebody_. It was, perhaps, the hardest thing he had ever done.

“We are here in peace!” he shouted once more, with all of his strength.

He could feel Dwalin coming up behind him and then the others, mirroring his gesture. He hoped the mountain people would be able to see what they were doing in the light of the fire’s embers and the moonlight in the sky and mistake it for a gesture of animosity.

Finally, one of the shadows stepped forward in their direction, its hands lowered. A torch was produced from somewhere and revealed a face lined with deep wrinkles and sharp, distrustful eyes that travelled over the dwarves.

“You want to talk?”


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Negotiations, negotiations!

The tension in the air was so dense Balin thought he should have been able to cut it with a knife. Even though the Dunlendings had not chosen violence as their first resort and were seemingly interested in the offer to talk, the air was anything but comfortable. The mood felt as if it could shift to bloodshed and fighting within less than a moment.

“Yes, we simply want to talk!” Thorin replied, trying to sound polite and respectful despite having to raise his voice to be heard clearly. “We promise that we will attempt no harm until the negotiations have been declared finished by both parties!”

The leader of the Dunlendings took a step forward, weapon lowered but still in their hand as if they were unsure if they could trust the dwarves. Balin could feel Thorin shift next to him, before he mirrored the leader’s gesture and took a few steps of his own forward. He knew just how much it must have taken for Thorin to do so without his sword in hand.

“There will be no weapons on either side during the talks?” The leader asked.

“Yes,” Thorin nodded. “If it is to your liking, we can nominate one each from our parties to stand watch over the weapons as a symbol of trust.”

The leader hesitated before they finally gave a nod in return.

“Boran!” they called out and a large shape stepped forward next to them. Then they turned back towards Thorin and the other dwarrows. “Boran here will be our designated guard. Who will be yours?”

Thorin looked around and Balin could see him locking eyes with Dwalin for a moment.

“Dwalin,” he said, as his friend walked up to stand next to him. With a nod towards the leader of the Dunlendings he added: “He has my utmost trust.”

Dwalin and Boran both stepped forward until they were facing each other and after their leaders both surrendered their weapons to them the rest of the dwarrows and Dunledings slowly followed their example. Balin made a show of removing even one of his hidden boot knives to demonstrate their goodwill. He didn’t doubt, however, that more than one small knife or dagger remained hidden underneath layers of clothing in both parties, to be used in the utmost emergency.

Some of them were more reluctant to surrender their weapons than others, especially amongst the Dunlendings. The mistrust was almost physical but Balin could hardly fault them for it; he thought that if he had been dealing with elves, he would certainly be the same, if not worse. In that respect it was almost a miracle that they had taken up their offer to negotiate at all. He looked over to where Thorin was speaking the traditional words of invitation so their guests would join them at the fire and couldn’t help but admire the dwarf that he was seeing. The flickering light of the fire and torches made him appear decades older and one could almost think that it was Thráin they were looking at. There was a sternness to him that had only come in recent years, partly forced into existence by the dragon’s attack.

Balin always hoped that Dwalin might be able to take just a little of that heaviness away and make it easier for Thorin to smile again; just as he hoped that Thorin might be able to help and curb Dwalin’s temper and soften the rough edges that had appeared around him since the fall of Erebor. He had no doubt that it would take those two a long time to figure out how a relationship between them would work since neither of them was exactly known for their openness when it came to talking about their problems and emotions.

It didn’t take long until they had all assembled around the fire. Balin had put a kettle for brewing tea onto the hot coals and Oda was now helping him to ladle it out, hoping that the hot brew would be welcome to their guests. The faces of the Dunlendings were filled with mistrust as they accepted the cups and none of them dared to take the first sip until they had seen the dwarves drink.

“And what would the subject of our negotiations be?” The leader asked. She had introduced herself as Hyrea, the head of one of the biggest clans amongst the Dunlendings. Apparently she had been leading their fates for decades. She had hinted that she would only be able to speak for herself and her people and none of the others; it wasn’t ideal, but at least it was a start.

“We would like to trade with you,” Thorin stated. There was a surprised murmur from amongst the Dunlendings. Hyrea only lifted one eyebrow.

“Why?” she wanted to know.

“Because no blood should be spilled over that which can be traded fairly.” Thorin replied. He looked over to Balin, knowing that he was the designated negotiator amongst them. He gave him a small nod, signalling Balin that it was time for him to take over.

“I assume you mean for us and our fellow clans to stop the attacks on your trading caravans,” Hyrea mused.

“Yes,” Balin stepped in. “Ultimately it will lead to fewer lives lost, on both sides.”

Hyrea mustered him, her sharp eyes measuring him from head to toe. Balin held steady under her gaze, matching her will with his until she gave a miniscule nod.

“And how do we know you dwarves will honour the agreement?” she asked sharply. “Forgive me but dwarves are known to often…take more than their fair share, shall we say.”

Balin could almost hear the other dwarves around him bristling at the comment and suddenly has was glad that they had all relinquished their weapons earlier or it might yet have ended in a bloodbath.

“And we have heard that the Dunlendings are not to be trusted and would rather steal and kill than being honest,” Róa threw in angrily. There was a hiss of protest in the air and many of the Dunlendings stiffened in fury. “And yet we are both sitting here, willing to at least try and see past the boundaries of such hearsay.”

Hyrea seemed to be taken aback and angered by her words at first before she shook her head and sighed, the tension bleeding out of her body ever so slightly. She lifted a hand and the people of her clan around her relaxed a little, too.

“Forgive my words. We should know better than to take everything people say at face value. Perhaps we should wait to see and judge for ourselves instead of following others’ opinions.”

“Perhaps we should,” Róa agreed. The dwarves and Dunlendings slowly settled down again and Balin cleared his throat.

“We are happy to offer trade agreements on both wares and services in return for you and your fellow clans stopping all attacks on our trading caravans. We would offer you first pick on several of those wares as long as we get exclusive rights outside your clans for things such as ore from the mountains.”

Hyrea’s eyes narrowed.

“Even if I and my clan would agree to such conditions…I have no power over any of the other Dunlending people and thus will not be able to speak for them. Whatever will be decided here, it will only concern our clan.”

“We understand,” Balin told her. “And we are willing to begin drawing up an agreement with your clan only. However, there have to be means for the clans to communicate with each other and we had hoped that you would be able to tell us where to find the others.”

“It depends on whether we can reach an agreement that is beneficial for both of us.” Hyrea frowned. “If we cannot reach an agreement, I see no use in you asking other clans.”

Balin stiffened slightly at the reproach in her voice, but he told himself to remain quiet and as polite as he could possibly be. He could feel the other dwarves shift and knew that they were just as close to the end of their patience as he was to his. If all of the negotiations would go like this...Balin rubbed his forehead and prayed that it would not be so or otherwise at some point someone _would_ lose their patience, likely enough with rather unpleasant results.

“Let us work on _our_ agreement first,” he stated. “Then we will be able to discuss the rest.”

Hyrea nodded, although her face remained stern. However, it wasn’t her who spoke next.

“Might I suggest that we retire for the night then?” Thorin said. “If we all agree that negotiations will continue, then it might be more prudent to continue them tomorrow at daylight, when all of us are less tired.”

“That appears to be a sensible idea,” Hyrea nodded again. “We will sleep in our own camp, but I give you my promise that we will return on the morrow to guide you to a better place for the negotiations.”

“Our thanks,” Thorin inclined his head as well. “Then we will continue this conversation on the morrow.”

After a few more formalities, the two groups separated once more, each member picking up their weapons before they returned their respective camps for the rest of the night. Balin could see the tension slowly leaving the others as soon as the Dunlendings had disappeared into the darkness. Thorin was the first to yawn and rub his eyes with his hands.

“Do you think we can trust them?” Dwalin asked.

“We have no other choice,” Thorin replied dryly and Balin nodded. “We will see tomorrow just how trustworthy they truly are, I guess.”

“And what if they will have disappeared? Or, worse, have called in other clans to attack us?” Oda threw in. She looked agitated, as if she was about to run into the forest to keep watch on the Dunlendings herself.

“Then we will fight,” Róa asserted calmly. “But for now, I have no doubt that they are almost as distrustful of us as we are of them. So let us try and get some sleep before we get lost in our own heads about everything that could happen.”

Oda nodded, but she still looked rather uneasy, obviously not trusting the situation.

“I will keep standing watch for a while longer,” she murmured as she hefted her axe in her hands. The others calmly agreed, knowing that she probably wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.

“I’ll finish my shift as well,” Róa offered. Thorin accepted both of their proposals with a gracious nod, yawning again. The longing for his bedroll was plain.

It wasn’t long until the rest of their travelling group had curled up in their bedrolls again, the sound of soft snoring filling their makeshift little camp. Balin lay awake for a while longer, looking at Dwalin’s arm surreptitiously curled around Thorin’s middle, and wondering what the next day would bring.

*

Contrary to Oda’s fears, Hyrea and her people came into camp early the next morning when the dwarves had just finished their breakfast. A few words of greeting were exchanged, but little more time was wasted beyond that. Hyrea seemed to be eager to be on the way, telling the dwarves that she and the other Dunlendings in her clan had decided that they would take them into their main village, both to treat the dwarves as proper guests and to create a better, more relaxed atmosphere for the impending negotiations.

Balin could hear Oda murmur quietly to herself, something about a ‘trap’ and ‘be careful’, but he hoped that none of the Dunlendings had heard her words. Part of him was annoyed that she seemed to be so mistrustful and was potentially harming their negotiations – but the other part could understand her thoughts only all too well, especially knowing that her father had been one of those who had succumbed to his wounds days after the attack on Erebor, simply because nobody had been willing to help. It would not be easy to get her to trust again, but maybe this was a good first step.

They followed the Dunlendings for the better part of the day, deeper into the forests that peppered the mountainside and finally into a small valley, not unlike the one where they had put up their own new settlement. In general, Balin was struck by just how similar their villages seemed to be to each other. Apart from the general size of the houses, different decorations and the far bigger number of animals in the Dunlending village, they seemed almost interchangeable. There were children running around between the wooden huts and dozens of people could be seen outside, tending to the animals and little fields between the houses and carrying various items back and forth, stopping here and there for a chat.

People gathered quickly as the dwarves were accompanied towards the largest of houses, situated right in the middle of the village and probably serving as a gathering place for the clan, Balin guessed. By the time that they stepped through the large wooden doors there was a sizeable throng of people filing through the entrance behind them, the excited buzzing of words in the air.

“Quiet!” Hyrea clapped her hands and together with her loud, authoritative voice, the entire gathering fell silent almost immediately. “You have probably all noticed by now that we have some guests with us at the moment. They are under my personal protection and I will see no harm come to them.”

With a little nod she asked Thorin, Balin and the other to step up on the wooden platform next to her.

“They have come to negotiate with us for the rights to trading treaties and safe passage through Dunlending lands. Until these negotiations are done, they will remain our guests, no matter the outcome. If you have any suggestions on the matter, carry them to me or Belearn and we will see to it that they will be heard and considered.”

The murmur broke out once again as soon as her voice quieted down and the dwarves found themselves stared at by more than one curious clan member. Balin felt rather uncomfortable, clustered up high with the other dwarves as an object of interest, and he could feel the other dwarves instinctively huddling more closely together as well.

Hyrea seemed to notice their discomfort, for she dissolved the assembly quickly and led the dwarves back outside again and towards a smaller set of houses not far from the assembly hall. Balin couldn’t fail but notice that they looked like they had recently been lived in but then been abandoned, although Hyrea ignored the dwarves’ questioning glances.

“This house will be your quarters for tonight and the following few days, however long will be needed for the negotiations,” she announced. “Tonight you are welcome at the fires of my family if you so wish to join us for dinner. Should you have any other needs or questions, do not hesitate to ask.”

The dwarves thanked her and entered the building to find that it had apparently been cleaned out and prepared since they had arrived in the village, no small feat considering that they had come in only so recently. Perhaps Hyrea had sent a runner ahead, Balin thought. If so, it showed a remarkable foresight and capacity for planning on her part, something that put Balin in a rather positive mood for the coming negotiations. She was clearly no fool but also seemed to operate with a rather clear mind and even if they might not see eye to eye, Balin always appreciated that.  

“What do you think?” Oda asked as soon as they were alone. “Do you think they will make an honest effort to negotiate with us or is it only for show?”

“They seem to be rather sincere to me,” Balin told her. “Surely they would not have gone through the trouble of cleaning the house, introducing us to the clanspeople and inviting us over for their evening meal if they weren’t willing to talk to us.”

“I’ve talked to more than one of the human folk before and most of them will make their intentions clear from the beginning,” Róa added. “We are certainly safe here, especially tonight.”

With a sigh, the dwarves set their packs on the floor, glad to finally be right of their weight on their shoulders. Their stained and worn travelling cloaks made their way on top of their packs and it wasn’t long until they discovered the large tubs for holding water in a backroom of the small house. They quickly found out where they would be able to obtain the water for the tubs and shortly after, the dwarves were scrubbing each other down, getting rid of all the dust and dirt of their long journey.

Balin never knew why dwarves were often seen as unclean or smelly by other people – he didn’t know a single dwarf who didn’t try to keep himself as clean as possible. Perhaps it was because of their long hair and beards, but even those were always taken care of. A dwarf would rather bow to their enemies than see their hair and beard become unruly.

After a wash and a change of clothes Balin could feel the tension of the past few days slowly bleeding out of him, at least a little. He could see a similar effect on the rest of his group – the other dwarves looked a lot more relaxed now, even Oda who had been so tense and distrustful before.  Thorin looked at each of them one by one as they got ready to leave the house with the two young siblings who had arrived not long before, asking them eagerly to come along to their aunt’s house for the dinner. He gave them a subtle not of approval and Balin could not help but notice once more how much of a prince he looked – the clean shirt and the few silver ornaments in his hair only emphasised what was already there.

“Shall we go then?” Thorin asked and, after everyone nodded, led the way outside after the two excitedly chattering children.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the slight delay in this one, life is pretty insane at the moment. The next one should come along much faster hopefully!

As the children lead the dwarves through the streets of the little settlement towards Hyrea's home, they quickly lost their shyness. Instead of only chattering amongst themselves they turned towards the dwarves after a short while, especially when other children of the village began to join them and ask more questions. They seemed rather amused by the fact that Oda and Róa were having beards, even asking politely if they could touch them to see if they were real. Oda shrank back at first, hair still being a rather private thing amongst dwarves, but Róa was more than ready to bend down and let the small hands examine the long strands of her beautifully kept and styled beard.

After a few words the children were careful not to disturb the hair clasps and ornaments in it - Róa explained to them that they were all very precious presents from her loved ones and they seemed to understand what she meant.

"How do you grow it so long?" One of the girls asked her. "Even my granddad doesn't have his this long!"

"It just seems to grow," Róa replied, slightly helplessly. "I care for it a lot. Oil it and comb it..."

"Will I ever be able to have such a nice beard like you?" Another girl asked, her eyes large as her fingers patted the hair again and again.

"Maybe, one day," Róa said. She didn't seem to have the heart to tell her that it would probably be impossible for her because the girl's eyes were shining so brightly that the sky itself seemed to be reflected in them.

"But girls don't _have_ beards!" One of the lads was looking at them, frowning as stated what seemed like such an obvious fact to him.

"Well, obviously they do." Oda chimed in, her hands running down the strands of her own beard in pride. "And rather magnificent ones at that, I might add. My aunt Ida's beard was her whole pride, it reached down to her knees when she combed it out..."

"To her knees?" The children gaped at Oda's description, obviously refusing to believe her words. They began arguing amongst themselves if that could really be possible and what you would do with so much beard. The boy who had argued earlier that girls didn't have any beards was engaged deeply in the conversation now of how you might be able to coil up the beard to get it out of the way when you were playing or working.

One of the other children tugged at Dwalin's sleeve.

"Why do you have a broom on your head?" he asked him with a frown on their face. Thorin tried not to laugh out loud when he realised that he probably meant Dwalin's mohawk. The fact that his own mind procured the rather ridiculous image of him holding Dwalin upside down and sweeping the floor with his hair didn't exactly help.

Dwalin consciously put up a hand and felt the rough brush of his mohawk with his fingers.

"Well. Uhm," he said helplessly.

"It's so that he appears bigger when he gets attacked by orcs!" Oda chimed in. Thorin heard a choking sound next to him and turned around just in time to see Balin pressing a hand to his mouth and sounding like he was about to double over. Dwalin glared at Oda, but the children obviously seem to take it as a rather valid reason.

"You are very little, yes," one of the girls remarked thoughtfully. "Say, if I do my hair like that, will the orcs run away from me too?"

"You should probably ask your parents first," Dwalin told her carefully and the other dwarves nodded along, trying to keep their faces serious. Not to think what the members of the village would say if all their children were wearing mohawks the next day. The girl pouted, obviously not too happy with Dwalin's suggestion.

"But I can show you and the others some nice braids to put in your hair," Dwalin offered, as if on second thought. Some of the children appeared mollified at his suggestion, but they still seemed to be disappointed that none of them would be wearing a mohawk any time soon. Thankfully they were all saved from any more questions by arriving at Hyrea's home. The children that didn't belong to her household slowly dispersed with some disappointed murmurs about how they would rather like and stay whereas the two that had brought them there were almost glowing with pride and anticipation.

They were welcomed by Hyrea's family sitting around a large wooden table in the centre of the room, not unlike the one many of the dwarves had in their own homes. Hyrea introduced each of the family members by name and Thorin attempted to remember all of them, from her brothers and sisters in law to Hyrea's three siblings and their multiple children. Apparently the clan leader herself had no partner and Thorin understood quickly that she had never desired a family, just like some dwarves did. The clan was her home and she was happy to spoil all her nieces and nephews instead.

The dwarves were offered places of honour at the head of the table, all of them carefully interspersed with the other members of Hyrea's family so they would all be forced to talk to each other. Thorin found himself seated next to Balin on his left and Hyrea on his right, Hyrea's sister Belearn across from him on the other side of the table. He half feared that they would begin talking about their negotiations as soon as they were seated, but thankfully Hyrea did nothing of the sort. Instead she asked them how they found life in Dunland and whether everything was to their liking in the small house that they had been given.

Thorin's and Balin's replies were coming hesitant at first, not sure just how much they were willing to tell the clan chief, especially in light of the upcoming negotiations. However, Hyrea and her sister both turned out to be more than skilled conversationalists, especially in a much more informal setting such as this one. Even though her own openness about private matters was guarded, they succeeded in wrangling forth more details about the dwarves and their lives than they had originally intended her to know.

In turn, they learned more things about the Dunlendings than they had ever known before.

"There are nine different clans in these lands," Hyrea told them. "Each guards the borders of their lands jealously and their relationships with the other clans are shifting constantly. Many of the clan chiefs are very insistent on their independence from the other clans and the only case where we would ever be united would be an attack on our lands by a common enemy, such as orcs or the Rohirrim. The latter haven't attacked in a long time, however, and even those old bonds between the clans are becoming fragile now. I do not believe that we would be able resist a large, coordinated assault of orcs anymore."

Silence spread amongst the guests at the table that sat within hearing distance. From the looks that some of her family members gave her, Thorin was sure that not everybody shared Hyrea's opinion on the matter. Indeed, her second sister Belearn frowned and shook her head slowly.

"I think we will be able to defend ourselves perfectly well," she said. "We have done so for centuries, after all, and never have the Dunlendings fallen to any attacks yet."

Hyrea shook her head, her gaze more sad than angry.

"The orcs are growing stronger with every year and it has been a long time since the last coordinated large-scale assault on their part. Once we used to be on good terms with the Rangers of the North who would keep us informed about the comings and goings of the orcs. The last time I have seen one of them, however, was more than three decades ago when I was much younger myself. Trust me, Belearn, we are not prepared."

Her sister shrugged, but didn't seem convinced.

"We have been doing well enough without the rangers' help so far," she pointed out. "Our people are stronger than you think, Hyrea."

"I know that our people are strong." Now there was the anger in Hyrea's voice that Thorin had expected much earlier. "I know it better than most. But _because_ I do, I also know just how much we can and cannot do. And an assault from a full army...there might not even be enough left of this village _or_ our people to continue living."

"And what do you suggest we do?" That was the voice of Hyrea's one brother, sitting next to Dwalin and Belearn. "You know none of the other clans would ever rally together without very good reason. And our defences are already strong enough as they can be."

"We can only hope," Hyrea said. "Maybe the orcs will never think us important enough to attack full force."

Thorin didn't say it out loud but both he and Dwalin knew well enough that it was a rather feeble hope. He suspected that Hyrea was aware of it just as well; but there was no need for her to sow additional panic amongst those in her family, especially the children who, although further away down the table, would certainly pick up one word or the other from them. Belearn, her brother and Hyrea's other sister shook their heads as well, but refrained from any further discussion. Thorin had the impression that this hadn't by far been the first time this was being discussed, but that they had never truly been able to reach a  solution.

"How long have you lived here then?" Balin inquired, leading away from the topic at hand. "Have your people always inhabited these lands?"

"For a long time, yes," Hyrea answered, with unmistakeable pride in her voice. "We once lived in the mountains and further east, but the Rohirrim and men of Gondor drove us away from our original home when they took up residence in what they call the Mark. We have taken these lands for us to live in ever since and made it our home as well as could be, defending it from orcs and men alike."

"Yours are strong people." Balin inclined his head slightly. "We, too, know what it's like to be driven from our homes. We came a long way until we settled in these lands."

He didn't tell Hyrea and her family about the reason for the wanderings and the destruction of their people at the hands of the dragon - there was no need for it, not in front of what were still practically strangers. If they had heard of the destruction of Erebor they would make their own connections in their mind. For now, there was no need to expose such a vulnerable part of their history to them.

"I had been wondering," Hyrea admitted. "We have never seen dwarves in these parts before and, forgive me for being so blunt, but it appears as if you had quite the journey and fallen on hard times before you came here."

Neither of them mentioned that the only way she could have known about their circumstances in such detail was because attacking and robbing their trading caravans only yielded meagre enough results.

"It wasn't easy," Balin said, not willing to go into further detail. Instead, he moved to highlight the similarities in their experiences once again, hoping that it would help them in the upcoming negotiations. "But we have persevered, not unlike your people."

Hyrea nodded, acknowledging this statement.

"However, we have been making our home here for generations now and although your part of Dunland has thus far been unclaimed by any clan due to its proximity to the Rohirrim, I do not doubt that many chiefs will nonetheless contest your right to settle there."

"Then we will have to show them why it will be to their advantage to have our company close," Balin asserted calmly. "That was the reason we came here, after all."

Hyrea didn't seem convinced by his words, but didn't contest them either. She likely had her own thoughts concerning their chances of success.

After that their conversation began flowing away from more serious topics again as they began to talk about the children that the dwarves had met on their way to Hyrea's home. Hyrea laughed when they told her about the serious beard conversations that had been happening on the way and was suitably sceptical when one of the children told her about a dwarrowdam's beard reaching down to her knees. Once the food itself was finished, the children began leaving their usual places and milling with their parents and the dwarves again.

One of the boys who had been sent them fetch them for dinner before clambered up on Belearn’s lap and leaned against her, obviously tired from the evening. His eyes were bright and awake, however, when he looked around the table and examined the dwarves.

“Why is your beard so short?” he asked suddenly, pointing at Thorin.

The dwarves went so silent that, for a moment, you could have heard a pin drop onto the floor of the room. Thorin’s thought were racing – asking about someone’s beard styles like this was a very confident and personal topic amongst dwarves, but of course the little boy couldn’t have known, especially not with them talking about other dwarves’ beards all evening. Belearn seemed to have noticed that this was a rather touchy subject, for she apologised quickly and told her son not to ask such personal questions again.

“No, it’s alright.” Thorin forced a smile on his face. “He didn’t know.”

He turned to the boy again, his own fingers unconsciously touching his beard.

“Amongst our people, we cut our beard when we lose people who mean a lot to you,” he said carefully.

“Oh.” The boy seemed to take in Thorin’s explanation, thinking about it with a concentrated frown on his face. “Does that mean you’re sad? I’m sorry that you’re sad.”

"I am not quite as sad as I used to be," he told him. "Although the hurt never leaves."

Thorin was quite sure that he would never forget the horrors that they had all seen and lived through in the mountain. True, he was able to sit closer to fire again than before and the nights where nightmares plagued him and ripped him out of his sleep were growing gradually less, especially with Dwalin's arms around him at night, but at the same time he simply knew that the wound that the dragon's attack had slashed into his soul would never fully heal.

"Do you want to play with my wargs? It always makes me less sad," the little boy asked Thorin, his eyes full of honesty. "They are great wargs," he added, as if to defend his idea when Belearn bit her lip so as not to laugh.

"Thank you very much," Thorin told him, his voice full of earnesty. "But I think they are for you to play with. I couldn't accept a gift like that."

"No, it's fine!" Before Thorin could say another word the boy had clambered down from his mother's lap and ran out of the room, presumably to fetch his wargs.

"I'm sorry," Belearn said apologetically. "I fear Tearn is currently in that phase where he is both trying to act very adult and still a child at heart. If he's bothering you, then..."

"No no, not at all," Thorin said with a little smile. He knew well enough what Belearn was talking about. In his mind it hadn't been too long ago that Frerin had proudly claimed in the mountain that he was old enough to learn fighting with his axes and cried over the fact that he was forced to eat cabbage only hours later during dinner time. The sudden ache in his chest, a longing for those simple times back in Erebor was so strong that he almost gasped. Balin noticed, of course, and touched his hand briefly before they continued speaking. Likely enough he had his own memories of Thorin and Dwalin that were probably fairly similar.

"It is good see children act like children should," Thorin added after a moment. He had seen far too many that had grown up too early in the nights and days after the dragon had come.

"I found them!" The shouting made them all turn their heads to where Tearn came running out of the neighbouring room again, his arms laden with toys. Despite his mother's protests he proceeded to dump them all on the table, his fingers quickly sorting through figures of hunters, ponies, dogs and a variety of other things. Finally he pulled out the wooden figurine of a large snarling warg, painted astonishingly accurate in dark browns.

"There." He held it out in Thorin's direction and gestured for him to take it. "That's Stripey. Because of the black stripes on his back. You can have him."

"I could never-" Thorin began, but Tearn interrupted him by almost thrusting Stripey into his face.

"No, you have to take it. Otherwise I'm gonna be sad too. And I have more wargs here, see? There's Snowy and Blacky and Softpaw and..." His voice trailed off as he was dutifully recounting all his toys' names to Thorin. Thorin took the little warg figurine from him gingerly, as if he was touching a fragile peace of jewellery.

"It's a very beautiful warg," he said honestly. Especially for men, the craftmanship on it was really quite good.

"Granddad and grandmother made them for me," Tearn told him proudly. "They said making them would keep them awake, even when they got very ill last winter. But they died before spring. I was very sad then, too, but the wargs have made the sad go away a little."

"You honour me with your gift." Thorin inclined his head formally, a gesture that Tearn repeated after a moment. "I will keep it close to my heart, in memory of you and your family."

Tearn's face lit up at the last sentence and he scraped together a little bow, telling Thorin that he was very proud that Stripey would live with him from now on. Thorin moved his finger across Stripey's back, feeling the rough structure of the wood beneath before he carefully dropped the toy into his pocket and thanked Tearn again.

Balin next to him looked both proud and said and the emotions in Dwalin's eyes as their gazes met across the table were almost unreadable. Thorin's fingers clenched around the little toy in his pocket.

He hoped that Tearn would never have to experience what they all had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stripey, by the way, will one day be given to a very young Fíli as his first toy. Survived a long time!


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Negotiations and some Dworin :)

 

Thorin awoke the next morning with a slightly heavy head. He couldn't quite remember just how long the previous evening had gone on for - he only knew that once the children had been sent to bed, some local brews had been brought out and the dwarves were being urged to taste every one of them. He _did_ remember trying not to drink too much so that he would be able to keep a clear head for the negotiations - but of course he also hadn't been able to deny at least trying everything that was given to him. He could dimly recall not being entirely able to walk straight on the way home, but at least he _could_ recall it.

A groan next to him told him that Dwalin might not be in so fortunate a position. Thorin looked down at Dwalin's slightly miserable face and the mussed hair surrounding it like a halo, feeling a little flutter in his chest. He wondered if that feeling would ever disappear, or if in a hundred years he would still look at Dwalin like this and feel the same sense of wonder and excitement that he was feeling now.

He reached out and bumped Dwalin slightly in the ribs with his elbow.

"Time to get up I think," he yawned and began to peel off the blankets covering them. Dwalin grumbled something unintelligible under his breath and tried to wrap all their covers more tightly around himself in response.

 "Dwalin, come on, we need to get up. Negotiations, remember?" Thorin poked him in the side, only receiving an angry glare from Dwalin's direction. He sighed and began to pull at the blankets more insistently, trying to keep Dwalin from holding on too tightly and wrapping himself up again. Dwalin, of course, had no intention of letting go at all. Thorin put more strength into him pulling, beginning to use his feet to kick Dwalin a little so he would finally relinquish control over the covers. It ended how they should have known it would - with both of them crashing out of the bed onto the floor in a tangle of blankets and angry curses.

"You awake now?" Thorin asked Dwalin sourly. His friend only grunted in response, sending another glare in Thorin's direction. Dwalin had never been much of a morning person, even less so than Thorin himself. With a sigh Thorin untangled himself from the blanket and stepped over to the little washbasin and pitcher with cold water in. Maybe, if he emptied its contents out over Dwalin's head...

The thought was tempting, but it would mean that he'd have to go out and get more water and Thorin didn't quite feel like doing so before he'd even had his morning wash to wake himself up. Therefore he restrained himself, watching with quite amusement from the side of his eyes how Dwalin was ever so slowly trying to untangle himself from the blankets to get away from the cold floor.

Only a good hour later they found themselves in the official council room of both the village and the entire clan. Hyrea was there, as were many of the elders and important members of the village. Even a few others had come in from neighbouring settlements that were close by. It was remarkable how the relaxed woman from yesterday had now completely turned into a leader, stern and fully aware of the responsibility for her people. Thorin wondered for a moment how she would have gotten along with Namara and Arathorn should they ever meet. He could see them both coming to blows or forming an alliance quite easily. Almost in response to Hyrea's behaviour he found himself assuming the position he had been reared for in the mountain since the moment of his birth. It was almost scary how easily he now seemed to be able to assume that mantle.

The negotiations opened after a quick breakfast and once the official introductions were done Thorin was content to let Balin do most of the talking and only step in when his authority as prince was needed. He could see Dwalin suppress a yawn from time to time on the other side of the table and hoped his friend would be able to keep it together until their first break and not outright insult their hosts by falling asleep and snoring.

Thorin forced himself to listen intently to everything that was being said, something that had helped him stay awake before. The first part of the negotiations was the most difficult one - finding out what both parties wanted, what they had and what they were willing to offer in exchange. Part of it was already obvious from the attacks on the dwarven trade caravans but still, it was important for everyone of them to formulate their wishes clearly.

Balin was eager to try his hand as the prime negotiator for the first time and although he still seemed to stumble now and then, he visibly grew into his role and seemed to find rather a lot of joy in it. Their conversations continued for the rest of the day, only interrupted by lunch and a few other short breaks. By the afternoon Dwalin's impatience was almost tangible - like Thorin he hated sitting still for long periods of time, but he was much worse at coping with it.

During a break in the afternoon Thorin suggested to him after a short talk with Hyrea that he might want to go out hunting together with Oda and some of the local hunters to help them replenish the food supplies that the dwarves were depleting. Thorin hoped that it would provide him both with something useful to do rather than sitting around all day and staring holes in the air and to help bond with the other clansmen of the village.

Dwalin seemed to feel both guilty and relieved when he accepted Thorin's offer, much like Oda. Thorin was sure that they would have only disturbed the meeting with their fidgeting. He noticed that Hyrea seemed to agree with his assessment, a slight smile on her face as she noticed Dwalin and Oda trying to leave without attracting too much attention.

Thorin had to admit that it was harder and harder to concentrate as time went on. Balin seemed to have no such problems, however - his eagerness seemed just as great as at the beginning of their session. In the end he even seemed to tire Hyrea out.

"Should we break for today and reconvene tomorrow?" she asked after another one of Balin's detailed propositions had been discussed.

 "Yes, seems like a good idea," Thorin agreed before Balin had the opportunity to object to the plan. Balin closed his already opened mouth with a look that was equal parts wistful and slightly disappointed. "We have come far today. Let us continue tomorrow with a clearer head so that we will be able to finalise whichever agreements have been made."

Hyrea nodded and rose from the table, a clear signal that this round of talk was finished.

"I am glad that we have seemingly found some common ground to negotiate on," she admitted and Thorin found himself thinking along similar lines. It hadn't looked all that rosy in the beginning - their people _were_ different, no matter any similarities in history they might share. Digging for what might united them rather than the differences had required some time and effort, but finally they had found them. The clanspeople had a need for weapons especially against the ever increasing orc attacks and would never reject any objects they might be able to trade for food amongst each other.

The dwarves, on the contrary, were more than good at supplying things such as weapons and any other items that could be crafted; in turn they were in dire need of coin and food. Of course, the specifics were by far not as easy as those simple truths made it sound and the main point of the negotiations was now to come to an agreement just how much all these wares were worth. All the dwarves knew that they would have to deal with at least a few blows to their pride - weapons such as they made them would have fetched a high price in gold in the days before the dragon. Now they would have to go for much less than they were worth if the dwarves wanted to survive. It nagged at all of them, but they had little to no choice.

"Your Company is once more welcome at our dinner table tonight." Hyrea extended the offer with a friendly nod of her head.

"We would be grateful. Let us hope that the hunters have returned with some food for all of us," Thorin smiled. Otherwise he would have truly felt bad for replenishing the settlement's food resources as several hungry dwarves were wont to do. But then he certainly had enough trust in Dwalin and Oda at least to make the hunt a successful one.

"I am sure they will have. They certainly looked eager enough." Hyrea added the last with a spark of humour in her eyes. Thorin laughed quietly, wondering if the hunters were back from their little trip yet. When they stepped out of the building he saw to his surprise that the sun was already lower over the horizon than he thought it would have been. They had really talked for quite a while.

Balin looked rather satisfied when they trudged back to the house they were staying in and Thorin couldn't fault him for it. Everyone at their settlement back home would be proud of him if they truly achieved what they had set out to do here.

"How many more days do you think we will need?" he asked Balin.

"It would be great if we could finalise things by tomorrow," Balin told him, although he was frowning slightly. "Certainly not more than a few days, depending on what Hyrea and the others decide to do."

"She doesn't exactly strike me as an unreasonable person," Róa added. "I'm fairly sure she wants this over with just as much as we do so they can return to their normal activities as well."

 "The question is, where do we go to from here?" Balin asked. "This is only one of nine clans. Travelling to each of them separately would require far too much time and effort, but as Hyrea said, there are no true centralised meetings amongst the clan chiefs anymore. It's like trying to gather all the dwarven clans I'd wager."

"There has to be a system for them to communicate," Thorin mused. "Just as we have emergency ravens to be sent from clan to clan they must have their own network to use, especially in case such as large orc attacks."

"I am sure there is," Balin agreed. "But it is another issue entirely whether Hyrea thinks us important enough to make use of it or not. I, for my part, am not quite certain about it."

"We will simply have to hope for the best," Thorin sighed. He didn't like the idea of having so little control over something so important either, but they were bound to the customs and limitations of guest right, just like everybody else would be. The other dwarves nodded along, none of them looking any happier about it than Thorin did. He wasn't the only one who would have preferred a much more secure route of action lying ahead of them.

Balin was about to open his mouth and reply to Thorin's words when a voice calling out over the middle square of the town to them interrupted their conversation. They looked over and saw Dwalin and Oda waving at them in the company of several hunters. They were carrying two deer between all of them and Thorin raised his eyebrows, rather impressed at the bounty. Dwalin was grinning from ear to ear, obviously proud of his achievement. Thorin's eyebrows rose even higher when he saw the deep bloody gash along Dwalin's forearm and for a moment he had a mental image of knife-wielding deer before it was replaced with more serious thoughts.

"What happened to your arm?" he asked after they had all greeted each other and suitably admired the prey that had been brought down. "Don't tell me those deer had axes."

"Och, I was just stupid is all," Dwalin shrugged. "We were trying to herd them in a certain direction and a nasty bramble branch caught me in the arm. Didn't see it in time to step aside."

Thorin sighed in almost perfect synchronicity with Balin, shaking his head. He believed Dwalin immediately - his friend had never been particularly known for his wisdom in avoiding danger and accidents after all.

"Come on, let's get this cleaned up before dinner," he said and clapped Dwalin on the shoulder. Dwalin nodded, not looking the slightest bit abashed.

To everyone's surprise Oda offered her help with skinning and cleaning out the deer so that the meat could be cured in time to replenish the stores after the dwarves' departure. Her offer was accepted with some grateful nods and she scampered off together with the other hunters whilst the rest of the dwarves went into their current home to clean up before the dinner. Thorin regretted that he didn't have any more time - he would have loved to whittle a little present for Tearn in return for the warg toy the boy had given him, but he needed considerably more time to create something that he truly liked enough to give it away. He didn't quite have his brother's skill with wood, something that he had envied Frerin more than once.

Thorin practically dragged Dwalin back into the little room they had for themselves.

"Hey, you are awfully keen on being alone with me all of a sudden," Dwalin grinned, trying to give his voice a suggestive lure. It didn't exactly work. Thorin simply rolled his eyes and pointed at the bed.

"Sit down," he commanded. Dwalin put his cloak and weapons aside and then let himself fall on the bed. Thorin searched for their little medicine kit in his pack and pulled it out with another sigh.

"I hope that you at least took sufficient revenge on the bush who did that to you," he mused as he began cleaning the gash on Dwalin's arm.

"Well. I _did_ kick it," Dwalin said. Thorin laughed.

"I'll make sure to tell your parents that you were wounded honourably when fighting off a vicious orc pack that was threatening to tear us apart," he added. Dwalin grunted and boxed him slightly on the arm.

"Oy, hold still. Or the stitches will look all crooked," Thorin admonished him. It must have been quite the impressive bramble bush, judging from the depth of the slash at the middle.

"They'll be all crooked anyway," Dwalin murmured and quickly evaded Thorin's elbow in his ribs with a little laugh.

"Stop complaining or you can do it yourself," Thorin grumbled, although his hands were careful and steady when they placed the stitches on Dwalin's skin. Dwalin's grip on Thorin's knee tightened and he sucked in a sharp breath as the needle kept piercing his skin. Thorin finished up in silence and as quickly as he could, covering the wound and wrapping a bandage around it as tightly as possible.

"All done," he said and tapped Dwalin's arm lightly. He was glad that all of them had learned at least the basics of caring for a wound during their journey from Erebor. It was far easier to just do it themselves in many cases rather than having to find a healer.

Dwalin's fingers trailed lightly over the bandage on his arm before he looked up to give Thorin a little smile.

"Thanks," he told him. His smile deepened and he leaned forward a little. "You were worried about me a little there earlier, weren't you?"

Thorin snorted trying to cover up the truth of what Dwalin had said with a smirk. Of course he had been worried. He was fairly sure he would never _not_ be worried whenever he saw one of his siblings or Dwalin bleeding from a wound somewhere.

"No way. If I'd be worried every time you bleed a little then I would have had a heart attack already. And lots of grey hair," he laughed. Dwalin glared at him, but couldn't help but dissolve into laughter not long after as well.

"I wonder what you're going to look like with grey hair," he said all of a sudden, reaching out and grasping one of Thorin's braid in a gesture as intimate as any kiss. His words gave Thorin pause; he had never really thought about the future since Erebor was gone. It was always surviving the next month for them, getting over the next winter, taking the years one by one without any thought of how they might live several decades from now. The thought that they might one day grow old together in quiet comfort was more than an alien thing to Thorin.

"I'm sure it'll suit you very well," he said with a little smile. Indeed, now that he put effort into it, he could actually imagine Dwalin how he might look in a hundred years, with his hair greying and probably a few more scars, wrinkles and tattoos added to his skin. He didn't add the _if we both survive until then_ , but Dwalin heard it anyway.

"You too." He gave Thorin a little wink and pulled slightly at his hair, prompting him to lean forwards until their lips met. Thorin smiled into the kiss, wondering privately if that was truly what their future was going to hold. For now he would take whatever he could, savour every moment he had with Dwalin and his loved ones to the best of his ability.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enough talking. Time for some action! \o/

The negotiations concluded more quickly than anybody would have thought. Apparently Hyrea was just as keen on finishing their agreements as the dwarves were and after a few more days both copies of the official papers had been signed by everyone in attendance. That evening they held a great feast - Thorin was still worried about them depleting the village's resources, but at least the continuous hunting expeditions of the dwarves and the local hunters had brought back enough meat that they wouldn't have to worry about that particular part of their diet.

This time it was not only Hyrea's family but the entire village that had been invited to the feast in the great assembly hall that stood in the middle of the settlement. Thorin thought that the celebrations seemed rather similar between Hyrea's people and his own - a lot of laughter, drinking and a multitude of foods. After interacting mostly with the negotiators and Hyrea's family for a few days he had almost forgotten that many inhabitants of the village had rarely seen dwarves before and even rarer on friendly terms.

It took a while for most of them to get over their distrust and some of the villagers never truly seemed to. Again, however, it was the children that seemed to build the bridges between them with their natural curiosity - they and the hunters who had been hunting with Dwalin and Oda in the last few days. Enmities had soon been forgotten in the hunting group after the first trip already.

Soon enough the dwarves were mingling with the townsfolk and the sound of raucous laughter was rising up in the air to vanish through the chimneys together with the smoke. To Thorin's slight dismay Dwalin and Róa became involved in a drinking contest that ended with even more laughter and a gruff sound of admiration from both the villagers and the dwarves at just how much the other seemed to be able to drink. Thorin was fairly sure that both dwarrows would bitterly regret their decision the next morning, especially seeing that they would have to travel on and there was no time to dawdle.

He and Balin had still not decided where to go next - somehow it seemed that they were unable to come to an agreement. Balin wanted to press on and find the other clans to repeat the same that they had done here, but Thorin was well aware of how much time such an endeavour would cost and that there was no guarantee they would be successful. However, he also understood the need to come to an agreement with more than only one clan. If there would only be a way for an assembly of all of them together...

As the evening slowly drew to a close Thorin threaded through the now mostly drunk dwarrows and people to find Hyrea. As he had expected she hadn't gotten drunk or at least by far not as much as the others. Just like Thorin she had wanted to keep a cool head so that she would be ready should anything arise that needed her attention.

"Thank you for the feast and your continued hospitality," Thorin offered her. Even though they were under guest right, there had been no reason for Hyrea to treat them as well as she had, especially inviting them to dine with her family every evening.

"My pleasure, Master Dwarf. I am glad we could come to an agreement."

"If you ever come towards our settlement in peace again, we would be delighted to offer you the same amenities in return."

"I am honoured and will make sure to let our hunters know." Hyrea inclined her head slightly.

Thorin hesitated; he wasn't quite sure how to approach the next part of the conversation, the part that he had actually wanted to ask her. In the end he simply decided to forge on ahead, hoping that he wouldn't offend her.

"Have you thought about a way to contact the other clanchiefs?"

Hyrea's eyes narrowed, but a miniscule smile travelled over her lips.

"I knew you wouldn't give up so easily on that point. There is a system with a few birds that has been set up as an emergency; but it only is to be used as such and I would not risk losing the others' trust over a matter such as this, even if it may seem the most important to you now."

Thorin resisted the urge to sigh. _Of course_ it was important to him - this was the deaths of his people from attacks on their caravans and their livelihoods that they were talking about here.

"I am sure that if your people were dying at other people's hands you would place quite the importance on the matter as well," he couldn't help but reply. A spark of anger flared up in Hyrea's eyes but it was suppressed almost as fast as it had appeared.

"My people have died. You dwarves are ferocious fighters and this is why I am glad that we have reached this agreement," she said stiffly.

"Then you will understand how important it is not only for us, but also for the other clans to tackle this matter as fast as possible," Thorin continued carefully. He had no desire to offend her further, but he would stand his ground and not let himself or his people's honour be insulted.

"I do. But I do not think the others will, especially not if I call them into an emergency meeting. I-"

Hyrea's head whipped around at the same time as Thorin heard a familiar shriek piercing the air.

"ORCS!"  They shouted the word at the same time.

What had been a peacefully celebrating room only moments ago now erupted into chaos. Many villagers were too drunk to have heard or properly react to the first shout, but the sounds of furniture falling and a horde of orcs crashing through the doors and windows of the town hall had them all awake soon enough.

Thorin looked around frantically - both for the rest of his travelling group and their weapons. The only thing he had been wearing was a dagger that had already sprung into his hand. He cursed when he remembered that they had left their larger weapons behind in the guest house, as a sign of trust to their hosts this evening.

"Thorin!" He turned around just as Dwalin threw the leg of a chair his way that he had obviously dismantled within seconds. Thorin caught it and, in the same movement, used it to block an Orcish dagger aimed in his direction. Using his own dagger with his other hand he made sure that this particular orc wouldn't get up again.

He could hear a dull THUD behind him as Dwalin seemed to use the rest of the chair to similar effect. Oda's angry battle shout rang through the hall somewhere to his left and he was fairly sure that it meant that she was fine, but truly, completely angry. He almost pitied the orcs who would try and attack her. To his surprise, her shout was echoed by a similar one to his other side and he saw Hyrea wielding a dagger in one of her hands a large meat carving knife taken from a table in the other. Her eyes seemed to be ablaze with fury and there was already one dead orc lying at her feet.

Another orc attacked Thorin with a shriek, drawing all his attention back to him. He barely evaded the slash in his direction, feeling a hot line on his shoulder where the orc's blade parted his clothes and drew a flat wound on his skin. With a snarl Thorin twirled and threw himself forward, his own dagger slashing open the orc's throats in a movement faster than any eye could see.

Dwalin called out to him again and Thorin made sure to fall in step at his side. Their long months of training together were finally coming to fruition -  Thorin didn't have to look to know what Dwalin was doing, their moves flowing together almost effortlessly as if they had become one body. He could see several of the townspeople join Hyrea in her own fight not far from them, all their movements speaking of warriors more than just experienced with fighting together in such close quarters.

Oda and Róa were off to the other side somewhere and from time to time Thorin could catch a glimpse of Balin's hair through the crowd. Confidence began to grow inside him that they would yet be able to beat back the orcs' relentless assault - the villagers had reacted fast despite the rather drunken state of some and had concentrated on bringing those to safety who were yet too young or unable to fight. Their organisation was truly remarkable and Thorin made a mental note to ask Hyrea how she trained her people, should they all survive.

Thorin slayed another two orcs and could hear Dwalin bash in the skull of a third one behind him. The killing and shouting seemed to slowly morph into one as he kept fighting off orc after orc. Afterwards they would find that the assault had been carefully planned - scouts had been watching the village for days and decided to attack when the villagers seemed at their weakest, right after the great feast. However, they seemed to have severely underestimated the villagers - their battle cries echoed through the hall as they defended themselves to the best of their abilities.

Wave of wave after orcs came and Thorin could slowly feel his arms growing heavy. He grit his teeth and kept fighting - there was no way he would draw his last breath before any of these orcs did.  He roared and lifted the sword he had taken off one of the orcs again, sliced through another arm, pierced yet another throat.

Suddenly it was over.

His chest heaving with heavy breaths, Thorin let his arms drop at his side and looked around. His body was still quivering with tension - something about this irked him although he could not say what it was. He looked behind him at Dwalin who was also breathing heavily but unwounded, apart from a flat cut on his thigh that wasn't looking too dangerous. He, too, seemed to be wound as tightly as a bowstring as if he could sense that something was not right.

Thorin forced the fingers around the orcish weapon he had taken to relax, stretching them. They were aching more than he had anticipated and he suppressed an annoyed groan.

"Don't relax yet." Dwalin's voice behind him sounded raspy from battle. "Something is wrong here."

"I know," Thorin shot an angry glance at him. "I can feel it too. But I thought I'd get whatever preparation I can before whatever happens next happens."

"Sorry," Dwalin shrugged his shoulders. "Didn't mean to insult you, _my prince_."

"Shut up," Thorin murmured and elbowed him in the side. Dwalin just grinned back at him, walking over to a dead orc and taking the well-made looking sword that they must have dropped as they died. Around him everybody seemed to remain tense as weapons were being cleaned, wounded were being carried away and seen too and some dying foes that were too far gone given the last mercy.

Thorin was about to step over and help where he could, when a loud howl cut through the air.

"Wargs!" Dwalin's shout rang through the air only a moment before Hyrea's. "Barricade the door and make sure the children are safe!"

Once again, Hyrea's people proved to be remarkably ordered, even in the face of such imminent danger. One part immediately split off to close the door and try and put everything in front of them that they could find whereas the others made sure that the children and those unable to fight were well protected and would stay in one of the back rooms until the fighting was over. Thorin could hear Tearn's high voice protesting that he could help and fight too and hoped that the boy wouldn't do anything stupid.

They were still in the middle of their preparations when the howls sounded out again, a lot more of them this time and very close.

"Form lines!" Hyrea shouted and immediately her people feel back, forming their own organised fighting groups that included the dwarves so seamlessly as if they'd always been a part of them. Just as they had taken their positions, the last remaining windows burst and their meagre barricades were being swept aside by a second wave of orcs, these astride on and accompanied by a number of wargs.

Thorin roared as one of the creatures jumped directly at him, its teeth bared in a vicious snarl. His sword connected with the animal’s throat at the same time as the Orcish war axe Dwalin had found dug into its head and sent it sprawling. Thorin just about evaded the last snaps of the dying warg's teeth and its sharp claws, but he wasn't quite fast enough to get completely out of the way of the orcs that followed behind. The orc's sword connected with his forearm, leaving a deep slash, not dangerous enough to wound him life-threateningly, but serious enough to make pain flare up inside him and almost make him lose hold of the sword in his hands.

Thorin let out a wordless scream in pain as much as in anger, thankful for when Dwalin's axe opened up the orc's neck.

"You alright?" Dwalin shouted at him, a momentary glimmer of panic in his eyes when he saw the blood on Thorin's arm.

"It didn't go too deep!" Thorin called back, already twirling around to meet the blade of yet another foe. "I'll be fine."

Dwalin still looked doubtful, but there was no time for worry - it was as if the second assault on their numbers by the orcs and wargs was even more ferocious than the first one. Thorin wondered what drove them to such fury, what higher power was behind them that there were so frightened that they would keep fighting down to the last drops of their blood.

"Thorin!" That was Balin calling out next to him. Thorin rammed his sword in an orc's side and turned to look quickly in the direction that Balin was pointing in. A curse escaped his mouth as he saw what was happening - towards the back where those unable to fight had barricaded themselves there was a large commotion as a particularly large group of orcs was attacking those trying to defend the others. The defender’s fighting was vicious and full of determination, but even they seemed to be unable to withstand the harsh assault of the orcs. There was no way that their collapsing lines would hold for much longer, especially where the wargs were ripping large holes into them.

"Thorin!" He barely listened to Dwalin's shouts behind him as he set off to help the defenders.

"Look after the others!" he shouted without gazing back at the battle behind him. From the other side he could see Oda falling into step with him, calling out much the same thing at those she had been fighting with. Thorin gave her a quick nod before they both fell into the line of orcs and wargs from behind. Thorin roared once more, feeling the action of the fight wash over him and, at least temporarily, carry away the pain from his previous wounds.

He swung his sword at a large warg from behind, just as the beast was attacking a fighter in front of him, ready to tear through the warrior's throat. The warg yowled and at least temporarily left off his target, turning around and attacking Thorin instead. He growled as he evaded a swipe from the giant paws and let his sword slice through the soft fur at the beast's throat instead. He barely noticed the splatter of blood on his clothes and arm from the killing, turning aside to look for his next target instead. It was quickly to be found in the form of a bulky orc who was trying to make use of a small opening between two defenders where a third one had died to get into the room behind.

Thorin attacked from behind once more, not caring about the fact that such a deed might be counted dishonourable amongst some of his people. Fundin had told him once that once it came to true battle often all that counted was simply plain survival, something every dwarven warrior understood. He was sure that no orc would waste time on something like honourable fighting. 

The defenders seemed to take heart from the dwarves coming to their aid and fought back with renewed vigour. However, even with their newly strengthened will, the battle slowly began to look back – more and more seemed to fall under the blades and the screams of the wounded and dying seemed to hang in the air like almost solid miasma.

Just when he was about to ram his blade into another orc’s chest there was a loud shriek that made Thorin turn his head.

“No!” He shouted when he saw little Tearn weaselling through the legs of one of the defenders, trying to carry a blade much too large for him and followed by his sister who was carrying a similar weapon. “Stay back! No!”

Together with another fighter from Hyrea’s ranks he jumped over to where the two children were standing, looking petrified as they saw the carnage in front of them now.

“Go back!” Thorin shouted at him, paying no mind at anything that was happening around him. He could hear another shriek behind him and turned around just in time to meet an orc’s blade that would have surely skewered him and the children had it been successful. Something growled behind him and he could hear another shout from Tearn, but wasn’t fast enough to turn around. Sharp teeth sank into his shoulder and for a moment his knees gave in at the pain that was running through him. There wasn’t even breath enough left in him to scream.

The warg shook him like a ragdoll before and Thorin barely registered when he tried to pommel the beast’s sensitive nose with his sword. It seemed to be enough, for the warg released him and he was flung through the air, hitting one of the wooden columns with full force. The last thing he saw before blackness descended in front of his eyes was the warg as it brought his attention back to the children again.

“No,” he thought. _No. Please, no_.

Then darkness took him.


	41. Chapter 41

He thought he could hear his mother’s voice. Strong as steel, with softness beneath – telling him to not go any further, to turn back and that his work wasn’t done yet, that his siblings and their people needed him, soon more than ever. Thorin longed to disregard her words and simply follow her along, but it was as if numerous strings were still tying him to a different place and pulling him back. He had no choice but to go, no choice but to return to the planes of reality.

When Thorin woke up, the first thing he felt was a burning in his shoulder as if someone had stuck an entire garrison of flaming needles inside his flesh. Everything around him felt fuzzy, as if wrapped in soft cottony clouds and he found it hard to open his eyes or, indeed, move. His entire body felt as if it had been tied down with leaden strings. He was vaguely aware that he was lying on soft linens, no straw itching in his back and a blanket covering him up to his chin.

Some sound must have escaped his throat, however, for he could hear someone say his name and feel some water being trickled on his chapped lips.

“Easy, Thorin,” the voice told him and somewhere in his muddled mind his thoughts attached the name Balin to the person who was speaking.

“Ugh.” It was all that Thorin could say for now. Stringing together actual sentences seemed to be far too much work for some reason.

“Don’t move,” Balin added in reply and if he had been able to laugh, Thorin would have. There was no way he could even open his eyes, how on earth was he supposed to move from wherever he was? He thought about how nice the sensation of the water on his lips felt and was about to try and ask for more when sleep took him again. He didn’t even hear Balin leaving and Dwalin blundering into the room only moments later to see whether he had woken up.

*

The next days were spend in a haze of waking up and falling asleep again, each time just a little more aware of his surroundings. Later on, Thorin would be able to remember that each of the dwarves had been around him at some point, Balin and Dwalin most of all. There were also humans, though, stern sounding ones as well as children, one of them pressing a little toy into his hand that his fingers closed around and clenched for hours like a lifeline.

 _The children_. That thought remained prevalent in his mind event though Thorin wasn’t quite sure about its importance anymore. More than a little tension, however, seemed to leave him once he heard Balin say that the children were safe.

Slowly whatever medication the healers had put him on was wearing off and as it did, the shapes around Thorin were becoming clearer. Now that he could open his eyes, one day he dared to turn his head to see Dwalin sitting by his bedside, sharpening one of his knives. From what he still remembered, Balin had remarked just how often Dwalin had gone out to hunt recently when he hadn’t been staying with Thorin. 

He had planned on saying something witty towards his friend and now partner but his parched throat rather ruined the effect – instead of a few words, the only thing that came out was a dry croak. Dwalin perked up, however, and the expression in his eyes seemed as if Thorin had just said the most romantic thing to him.

“Hey,” he smiled at him, immediately putting his knife aside and stepping over to Thorin’s bed. “How are you feeling?”

Thorin managed another croak and suddenly Dwalin looked embarrassed, seemingly remembering the pitcher on the little stand at Thorin’s bedside. He filled a little cup and held it to Thorin’s lips. Thorin almost sighed in bliss as the wetness in his throat and made protesting noises when Dwalin refused to give him any more for now.

“You’ll get sick if you have too much at once. The healer was quite specific about that, you know.”

Thorin simply sighed with another regretful look at the pitcher next to him.

“How bad is the pain?” Dwalin wanted to know. “The healer said he took you off the really strong pain medications they had and that it might be quite uncomfortable at the moment, but at least you should be more aware of your surroundings now.”

“’m okay,” Thorin finally managed to press out. Another smile bloomed on Dwalin’s face.

“Liar,” he told him gently, feeling Thorin’s forehead with his palm. “But hopefully you will be, soon.”

“Why do you even ask?” Thorin mumbled.

“Because I’m supposed to,” Dwalin laughs. “Guess I’m just glad you’re here with us again so I’m babbling.”

“You. Babbling,” Thorin was quite proud that he managed to sound as incredulous as he felt. Only then did he notice the tiredness on Dwalin’s face, the fine lines of worry that had somehow made their way on there.

“Well. Wasn’t quite so sure that you’d survive for a while there. Of course, I always knew you were going to make it, but…”

Thorin grit his teeth and moved his arm, even though his body still felt heavy like a giant bag filled with rocks. His fingers touched Dwalin’s and with some concentration he managed to grip them ever so slightly, especially when Dwalin closed his own hand around his.

“I’m fine,” he told Dwalin again. “No need to worry anymore.”

The quick smile flickering across Dwalin’s lips told him that his friend didn’t quite believe that, but the relief was still evident on his face. He squeezed Thorin’s fingers in a movement that said more than a hundred words could ever have and Thorin felt a smile rise on his own face.

“If you two lovebirds are quite done, the healer would like another look at you, Thorin.”

It was difficult to say who withdrew more quickly, Thorin or Dwalin. Thorin could feel his ears heating up and Dwalin was murmuring something as he stood up, his fingers brushing Thorin’s one last time in a way that was hard to overlook. Balin simply rolled his eyes and the healer next to him apparently tried to suppress a chuckle.

Behind Dwalin and the healer someone else entered the room, and Thorin soon recognised Hyrea when the light from the window illuminated her. As the healer went about to remove the bandages around Thorin’s shoulder and chest with Dwalin’s help, Hyrea eyed him with both worry and substantial relief in her eyes.

“I am glad to see that you are faring better,” she said, with a nod at the healer.

“Me too,” Thorin replied with a little smile, wincing when the healer touched some of the slowly healing wounds in his flesh. “I have heard that the children at least survived the fight?”

“They all did,” Hyrea nodded. “Some of them carried away a few scrapes and quite a fright, but at least from the outside they seem none the worse for wear.”

“I am glad to hear so.”

“And most of that is thanks to you, I have heard,” Hyrea continued. “I am sure that the townsfolk will never forget that particular service you have done all of us.”

Thorin inclined his head, accepting her thanks and the unspoked promise of debt that came with it.

“I was simply closest. Everyone would have done what I did.”

“That might be so,” Hyrea asserted. “Fact is, however, that no one did and we won’t forget, least of all Tearn and his sister. They both came by as you lay unconscious and healing. Tearn insisted on tugging Stripey into bed with you and Alina brought you her own favourite toy wolf.”

So that was what he dimly remembered clenching in his hand. A quick look at the bedstand showed Thorin that both figurines were standing there, watching over him together with the living.

“I’ll hold them both in high honour,” Thorin told Hyrea with a smile. He tried not to pay attention to what the healer was doing at his shoulder, telling himself that it would be unsightly to show much indication of pain in front of people not of their folk. The smile was gone from his face as quickly as it had come when he remembered the carnage of the battle night. “How many have survived?”

Hyrea’s face darkened, not at his question, but evidently at the weight of her answer.

“We lost many fighters that night, and many more were wounded,” she said gravely. “But our town is safe once more, and that is what counts. Messengers I have sent have told us of similar attacks against the other clans; your people in the mountains might have been hit as well, although the orcs might not have come that far south.”

Thorin felt a flutter of panic inside him, a look at Balin’s and Dwalin’s faces making it clear that they had heard the news before and were just as worried. He also knew why they hadn’t sent anyone home yet – the journey was a hard and perilous one, especially with the orcs and wargs roaming around, and a party of only one or two dwarves would never make it back in one piece. The decision would fall to him, he realised; stay and pursue their goals with the clan chiefs or leave and return to their settlement to see whether it still existed. Unless…

“I realise that you have lost many in the battle,” he said carefully, not letting Hyrea escape from his gaze. “And I know that these are trying times for us all. But in light of recent events – the safety of our families is at risk just as much as yours was and I ask whether you have a few able fighters that might accompany two of my people home, to see whether any help is needed if the settlement was attacked. If there was no damage, we would also be happy to send any help you need here, in accordance with the treaty.”

Thorin could almost feel Balin and Dwalin stiffening. Oda and Róa had come in behind Hyrea and the healer and their drawn faces were saying more than a hundred words as well. Another bout of anger flashed through Hyrea’s eyes and left as quickly as it had come. She knew as well as Thorin that the debt of gratitude her village owed the dwarves meant that there was no true way for her refuse Thorin’s request without losing honour. That Thorin had offered the dwarves’ help with any eventual rebuilding that had to be done didn’t do much to mollify her.

“I will ask my people if there are any who are willing to go with you,” Hyrea told him stiffly. Thorin nodded his thanks, knowing that he wouldn’t get more than that. He couldn’t say whether there would be any people fond enough of the dwarves to volunteer to come with them, but that decision was out of his hands.

“How bad is the wound?” Thorin directed his question towards the healer who was rubbing another salve on his flesh to help with the healing. Its smell was strong, but not unpleasant. Thorin wondered quietly whether they might be able to exchange medical advice between the two folks as well, once their trading relationships developed.

“With one of our folk I would have said you should be dead,” The healer shook his head. “But as I was told by others, dwarves seem to be a hardy folk. The wound is healing slowly, due to the infection from the warg’s bite, but heal it does. If you are lucky you won’t even carry away much lasting damage, apart from the usual soreness and pain dependent on weather, if it is the same for dwarves as it is for us.”

“I am sure that in many cases we are a lot more alike than we might think,” Thorin admitted with a small smile. “Thank you for your care and hospitality.”

The latter came with a small incline of his head, denoting his respect towards a healer who had done his best to heal someone not even of his own people. After another few words of conversation Hyrea and the healer left, leaving only the dwarves behind to talk amongst each other.

“Do you think they will give us fighters to accompany us home?” Oda asked, her brows drawn in worry.

“I am not sure,” Balin replied. “It depends on how much they truly think they are in our debt and how sympathetic they are to our own plight. I would hope for some volunteers, but…” He shrugged.

“We will see,” Thorin said with a little sigh. He already began to feel impatience rising inside him despite his tiredness; he had never been one to sit still for very long, not even when he was injured. He wished there was something more that he could do despite sitting here and hoping things would go right. “How much of the village has been destroyed?”

“They’ve begun part of the rebuilding already - you’ve been mostly unconscious or asleep for more than a week,” Róa said. “After the fighting we discovered that quite a few houses had been torched and vandalised. Some families here have lost everything, although thankfully the largest food stores were spared. It will take a lot of time to rebuild everything, especially before winter comes. They will certainly need all the help they can get with it.”

“We only need to hope that our people will have the strength and reserves to send what is needed,” Thorin sighed.

“First of all, it’s you who has to regain his strength though,” Dwalin interjected sternly, but not unfriendly. “I can see it in your face, you’re already itching to get out of bed, aren’t you.”

“Uhm.” Sometimes Thorin hated just how intimately familiar Dwalin seemed to be with his mind. “As if you’re one to talk. I’ve been inactive enough, I should-“

“ _You_ should lie down and do nothing so that you can get healthy. I won’t have you ripping any stitches or relapse into that terrible fever because you’re so bloody stubborn!”

Thorin was surprised by the anger in Dwalin’s voice. They often bantered back and forth but never in a serious way – this sounded as if Dwalin was truly mad at him for not wanting to stay in bed. Thorin frowned at his friend and after a short moment Dwalin muttered something under his breath about having to take a piss and left the room, banging the door shut behind them. Oda and Róa were pointedly not looking at Thorin as they rose from their seats and headed outside to follow Dwalin and so it came to Balin who looked slightly uncomfortable to explain what was going on with his brother.

“He’s just worried about you, Thorin,” he began. “You know…he was the one who rushed towards you first when you went down. We all thought you were dead. That warg…” Balin shuddered before he continued.

“The healer told us that it was useless, that you wouldn’t survive. We had to physically restrain Dwalin from trying to kill him just like he killed the beast that mauled you; and even when I told the healer that dwarves are a lot hardier than other folk, he hardly wanted to believe it.”

Balin paused and looked over at Thorin, but Thorin didn’t really know how to meet his gaze; his fingers kept tugging at the blanket across his knees. He didn’t even know if he wanted Balin to go on with the story.

“He was here the entire time, you know? He shouted at you, begged you to wake up and heal. I’ve rarely seen him so distraught; maybe when the mountain fell but apart from that…” Balin shook his head. “He refused to leave your side until it was clear that you would survive. Then he alternated between absolutely exhausting himself with hunting and helping in the village and watching over you some more. Thorin, I honestly don’t know what he would have done had you not survived.”

Thorin was still unsure of what to reply; he had never really been good with emotionality and even less so with relaying this feelings to others. That Dwalin would care so much for him made him feel flustered and almost ashamed in a way even though he didn’t know why. Balin saw that he wouldn’t get any reply from him this time either, so he sighed and continued.

“He almost went mad with worry. When he seems angry and overprotective now…well it’s because he almost saw you die. So it might be better for all of us if you took it easy now.”

“I’ll try.” Thorin forced a little smile on his face. “I’m sorry for worrying all of you so much. I didn’t…I never meant to make it so difficult for you.”

“Well, it wasn’t your fault now, was it,” Balin shrugged, but then smiled and reached forward to pat Thorin’s knee. “We’re all just glad that you managed to survive. And at least one good thing emerged from you almost dying it seems – Hyrea has called in a meeting of all clanchiefs to discuss the recent attacks. It will be the perfect opportunity for us to talk with them and offer our help.”

“That’s something at least,” Thorin nodded. His next words were interrupted by the door to the room opening again and Dwalin returning, together with Oda and Róa. Dwalin was looking everywhere but at Thorin and Balin was about to open his mouth and say something to his brother when Thorin began to speak.

“Since I am not allowed to get up or do much work…Dwalin, would you mind getting me my little carving knife and a piece of wood? That way I won’t accidentally overdo it.”

“Sure.” Dwalin still wasn’t looking at Thorin.

“And…Dwalin?” Thorin took a deep breath. Mahal, but this was hard. Why had nobody ever told him that relationships meant so much actual work? He reached out towards’ his friend’s hand. “Thank you for looking after me, all this time. I’m sorry you had to see all that.”

“I’m sorry, too, for getting so angry at you earlier,” Dwalin murmured gruffly. His fingers brushed Thorin’s, and a miniscule smile travelled over his face. Thorin laughed quietly, somehow knowing that this might be the first time they had this conversation but it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“It’s fine.”


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the slight delay with this one; RL is kicking my ass atm!

Thorin hated being ill. Dwalin had always known that of course, but this was the first time he truly got to see it. Despite their previous conversation, Thorin was still as restless as a weasel in a trap; more often than not he would attempt to do things on his own that he should not being doing in his injured state, only to look rather sullen when the other dwarves and the healer admonished him for it. Dwalin thought he would go mad with worry any moment now. He had never realised that having a One could come with so much pain and anxiety, although he should have known from the way he felt about his family and companions at times.  

There was no way could have ever told Thorin what was going on inside him. But he was fairly sure his own brother knew anyway, at least from the looks that Balin was giving him. Dwalin told himself that the feeling of dread and desperation whenever he looked at Thorin wold vanish one day; but whenever he wasn’t close, whenever he didn’t guard his thoughts, the only thing he could see was Thorin lying in his own blood, not moving. He felt that if he didn’t keep watch over him Thorin would simply continue to get hurt and one day he might not wake up. One day, Dwalin would return to a broken body upon the ground, with no life left in his eyes. He didn’t know what he would do if it ever happened.

“Róa.”

The dwarrowdam looked up as Dwalin approached her. She had been talking to one of the merchants but dismissed them quickly enough when Dwalin approached.

“Dwalin. What is it?”

“Can I speak to you?” Dwalin tried his best not to appear nervous, although he wasn’t quite sure he was succeeding.  He suddenly felt like a little dwarfling back in school under the glance of his teachers.

“Of course.” Róa looked him up and down and then waved him over to the small house they were staying in. Nobody else was here at the moment; Balin was with Thorin and Oda had left to help with some of the rebuilding in the settlement. At least they had been relieved of one problem – several people from the settlement had volunteered to return to the dwarves’ new home, bearing messages from Hyrea and to see whether their people had survived the orc attack if it had happened at their place as well. They both settled down on two chairs and Róa looked at Dwalin again before smiling a little. “This is about Thorin, isn’t it.”

“How did you know?”

“It’s not hard to tell,” Róa laughed. “You always get a very unique look in your eyes whenever you mention or think about him.”

Dwalin furiously told himself that no, he was certainly _not_ blushing, not at all, but Róa simply kept on smiling, He didn’t know that he was this obvious. It was most embarrassing.

“You and Hulda have been together for a while, haven’t you?”

“A bit,” Róa smiled. “Although not actually very long by the standards of most people, I fear. Why?”

“When…when Andri returned to the stone, how did you cope? And when you cannot be there when anything happens to her…what do you do?”

“Ah.” Róa stared at him for a moment before she averted her gaze to fiddle with the clasp of her coat a little. “It is…not easy to describe, I’m sorry. Everyone deals with it differently; and although Hulda and I are of the same stone, we still react in different ways. Especially when Andri died. She immediately buried herself in her work, trying to find solace in her Craft; whereas I didn’t know what to do and whenever I touched my tools, nothing seemed to be going quite right. I wish I could give you a better answer than this but…there isn’t really one, I’m afraid. All you can do is keep on living.”

Dwalin looked away from the pain in her eyes, down at his own hands. How could those two hands hold and protect everything that was dear to him? He shook his head.

“But how do you not lose your mind every time you are away from Hulda? How are you not scared about what might happen?”

“I am scared all the time,” Róa told him matter-of-factly. “But I cannot let that fear rule me. It would be rather unfair towards her, wouldn’t it? If I would police her life according to my fears? So every single time I lie awake at night worrying if anything might have happened to her or Dori, I also think of her laughter and the way she would tell me not to worry. Like the sadness, the fear won’t ever disappear, but you can learn to deal with it.”

Dwalin opened his mouth, thinking of a reply, but he came up with nothing. So he simply shook his head.

“You have to learn to trust,” Róa said gently. “Trust in those you love, that they will stay alive.”

“I don’t think trust is going to help anything when a mine comes down on top of them or when Thorin thinks he has to recklessly throw himself into the fighting again,” Dwalin replied dryly. Róa snorted out a laugh.

“No, it won’t. But would Thorin still be the same if he always stayed meekly at the back and let others protect him?”

“No.” Dwalin didn’t really have to hesitate much with his reply. Part of what he loved about Thorin was the way he would do everything for his people, his unwavering devotion to his family and his entire clan. He often wished Thorin would spare at least a little thought and care for himself; but take his selflessness away entirely would mean that this was a different dwarf than the one Dwalin had grown up with and come to love.

“Then you should do everything you can so that neither of you will fall behind in your journey. Remember; Thorin likely thinks the very same about you.”

That made Dwalin pause; he had never really considered that Thorin would think the exact same way that he did. He had always felt like he was the one meant to be the protector, the one guarding the prince and thus keeping future king of the realm from harm. That Thorin would have the desire to do exactly the same…it was a rather new feeling for him.

“Have you ever asked him about it?” Róa seemed to be able to read his thoughts. Dwalin shook his head.

“I never thought…”

“What, you didn’t think that a future king would feel the same need to protect those he loves the way that you do?”

Dwalin looked at the ground, not being able to help his feet shuffling. He suddenly felt rather stupid.

“Not really,” he said sheepishly. “I mean I didn’t…what with me probably becoming his bodyguard and…” He realised that he was rambling and clamped his mouth shut before he could say any more embarrassing things.

“Then maybe you should talk to him,” Róa said with a smile. “After all, there is never only one in a relationship, is there.”

“Yeah.” Dwalin was still staring at the ground, half cursing himself for having brought up the topic in the first place and half glad that he had found the courage to speak to Róa. How would he approach a topic like that with Thorin though? He’d never had the gift for words his brother did and had always disliked ‘serious’ conversations.

“Was there anything else you wanted to ask?” Róa wanted to know.

“No, sorry for stealing you time,” Dwalin told her, still feeling slightly bad for intruding on the dwarrowdam and asking her such intimate questions. Róa only raised her hands and smiled.

“You’re welcome,” Róa laughed. “And it certainly wasn’t a bother. I’m glad you decided to ask.”

Dusting off her pants she gave Dwalin one last smile before she opened the door and stepped back outside. Dwalin found himself remaining alone in the room, unwilling to get up for the moment and face the world outside again. Róa’s words kept reverberating in his head. He still felt as clueless as he had been before – ‘live with it’ wasn’t the kind of answer he had really hoped for. It still seemed completely unclear to Dwalin how he was ever supposed to find peace of mind whenever Thorin did something as reckless as he was wont to.

“I’ll just have to make sure he isn’t alone when he gets himself into trouble,” he murmured to himself as he took out his axe and one of his whetstones. Of course the blade didn’t really need sharpening, but Dwalin felt that his hands needed the regular movement now to help keep his mind off everything else. Why did everything turn out to be so complicated? Why couldn’t he and Thorin just be like every other relationship he had seen? He was sure his parents never had the same problem. Definitely.

Dwalin stopped when he realised that his movements were growing too forceful. He wouldn’t ruin the blade of his axe over his inner turmoil. With a sigh, Dwalin stood up and put both axe and whetstone back into their places before stepping outside again.

He practically slammed the door open into his brother’s face who jumped back at the last moment before Dwalin could accidentally break his nose.

“I was looking for you,” Balin told him as if nothing had happened.

“Uhm. I’m here?” Dwalin scratched his head.

“I can see that,” his brother replied nonchalantly. “Hyrea has asked everybody to assemble in the meeting hall. It looks like at least a few of the representatives from the other clan have arrived and they would like to meet us. Róa told me I could find you here.”

Dwalin nodded, remembering just in time to get rid of the other weapons he had been carrying.

“Lead the way.”

They walked in silence next to each other towards the large building where the meetings were usually held.

“Thorin is coming as well?” Dwalin asked when they were halfway there.

“Yes,” Balin nodded. “The healer permitted him to walk over by himself if he didn’t do any more to aggravate his wounds.”

Dwalin grunted.

“I hope he takes that last bit to heart,” he murmured, more to himself than anybody else. Of course Balin heard him nonetheless.

“Well, if he doesn’t, I’m sure you’ll be there to remind him of it, won’t you?”

With a snort, Dwalin nodded, not willing to go deeper into a reply. It would have involved explaining the conversation he’d just had with Róa to Balin and he wasn’t sure he wanted to so quite yet. Especially given that his tendency to be overprotective didn’t only extend to Thorin but quite clearly to his own brother as well.

Together, they trotted down towards the meeting hall and Dwalin wasn’t surprised to see that most people were already there when they arrived. To his surprise, Thorin was already sitting down on one of the chairs, the full image of regal calm. Only someone who knew him as well as Dwalin did could see the fine lines of pain that were etched around his mouth. He said nothing, only nodding at Dwalin when he entered, before turning his attention back to the man he was talking to.

“It seems like we are all assembled now.” Hyrea’s voice rose loud and clear above the heads of the others. “Please, take your places.”

Dwalin and Balin stepped forward as one, to take their seats one the left and right hand sides of Thorin. Dwalin’s and Thorin’s fingers brushed ever so briefly before they listened fully to Hyrea’s words.

“I thank you all for coming and for your continued trust in our clan,” she began gravely. “I am glad to hear that, although you have suffered losses, you have made it here today and none of our clans were completely destroyed.”

There were nods all around. As far as Dwalin could see there were at least five other clan chiefs in attendance, although he wasn’t quite sure. Nobody here seemed to place much emphasis on finery and gaudy symbols of status. The only things he could see that were different were slightly finer furs and a necklace with a carved cave bear bone that some seemed to be wearing. He had never noticed the necklace on Hyrea before, but now she was wearing it too, the carvings on it reflecting the light.

“Your grace in accepting my invitation has shown that you value our continued peace and cooperation just as much as I do. However, the reason that I requested your presence is not only tied to the recent attacks, but also to the unexpected help we received when they happened.”

A murmur arose amongst those from the other clans and more than one glance was cast over towards the dwarves. Dwalin shifted slightly on his seat at being the centre of attention. He felt far too much like a curiosity that was being looked at under a magnifying glass.

“We came to offer negotiations for trade and safe travel,” Thorin took over from her, as smoothly as if they had practised it before. Perhaps they had. “At the end of those negotiations, the orcs attacked. We saw it as our honour and duty to help defend those who had housed us.”

“And what were dwarves doing in these parts in the first place?” One of the clan chiefs asked. Distrust was dripping from his words.

“Yes!” another added, this one a woman with sharp eyes and a general air of wariness. “How do we know the dwarves didn’t conspire with the orcs? Seems awfully fortunate that they were here to ‘help’ just as the orcs attacked.”

Dwalin felt a wordless growl rise in his throat. The other dwarrows around him were bristling as well and Thorin looked like he wanted to kill people with the power of his gaze alone. He saw Hyrea make a soothing motion in the dwarves’ direction but before she could open her mouth Dwalin rose from his seat, momentarily regretting that he wasn’t carrying any weapons on him. 

“We lost our home when the dragon came and have worked hard to build a future here, in the south of Dunland. Despite your attacks on us we came to offer peaceful negotiations that benefit us all and when you were attacked we did what every ally should do – we fought for you, shed our blood for you. One of us almost _died_ for you, as hundreds have died by the hands of orcs before we came. We will listen to what you have to say, but not stand for such insult!”

“Dwalin.” Dwalin looked over to see that Thorin had placed a hand on his arm. There was pride in his eyes, however, and a fierce light when he looked at him.

The clan chiefs had drawn themselves up to their full height now, indignation blazing in their eyes.

“You dare speak to us so? You dare-“

“Enough.” Hyrea did not raise her voice too loudly, but it suddenly seemed to have an almost crushing quality to it. Despite all the clan chiefs being equal, all mouths closed and everyone’s eyes turned to her. Seeing her authority in action didn’t only impress Dwalin, apparently.

“We have assembled here to talk about peaceful ways of interacting with each other, not to hurl insults back and forth,” she said with a sharp glance at both the clan chiefs and the dwarves. Dwalin couldn’t help but bristle at her gaze. It hadn’t been _him_ who had started with the insults. “If this is the only reason why you came then you should leave again.”

The last one was added with another glance at the leader who had spoken of a conspiracy between dwarves and orcs. The woman bared her teeth but remained silent. Dwalin got the sudden impression that she would probably make a formidable ally once you had gotten onto her good side. He recognised a strong fighter when he saw one. Unfortunately that meant that she also made for a great opponent if you had _not_ gotten onto her good side.

“Without the sacrifice of these dwarves many of our children would be dead now,” Hyrea continued, a dangerous glint in her eyes for a moment. “They have proven their honour more than once and the vast majority of my clan will agree with this.”

Some of the clan leaders snorted, but none of them left. Dwalin could still feel the rage boiling hot in his veins, but he forced himself to remain calm, at least for the moment. It was probably a good thing that he would likely never have to lead any big diplomatic missions.

“So you made use of the emergency system in order to have us do trade negotiations with the dwarves?” Another one of the clan chiefs asked. “With all due respect, Hyrea, but it is not an important enough matter to make us travel all this way.”

Hyrea sighed. Dwalin had the impression that this wasn’t the first time she was arguing with this particular clan chief.

“No, of course not, Yurin. The main reason was the past orc attack – we need a much better system for coordinating the defences across our borders should anything like this happen again. I fear that this wasn’t the last time that we were attacked like this and if they return with strong numbers, the next time might well mean our end.”

“And how should such a system work?” Yurin demanded to know.

“This is what we are here to discuss,” Hyrea said patiently. “And I do not expect any kind of solution to be found either quickly or easily.”

There were murmurs amongst the other clansmen and Dwalin could almost feel the tension thrumming through both Thorin’s and Balin’s bodies next to him.

“Then let us discuss.” One of the clan chiefs finally nodded, settling back in her seat. It was as if a big sigh went through the room as everybody seemed to relax almost instantly. Dwalin felt that a long night lay ahead.


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little time skip in this one; let's bring the story forward! Also apologies in advance, the next chapter will be slightly late probably since I'll be doing PhD-related travels again and there is generally a lot to do at the moment *stares at their cosplays and workload in dismay*.

“Now that went well, didn’t it?” Balin stretched slightly, an obviously satisfied grin on his face. Dwalin laughed when he saw his brother like that; it wasn’t like him to look as satisfied as a dwarf who had woken up next to a new vein of gold ore in the morning.

“It did,” Thorin acknowledged. “If I had known that to give us a trade agreement with all the major clans all I had to do was to almost die, I would have done it sooner…”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Dwalin grumbled. “You’re going to do nothing of that sort ever again, you hear me?” But even he couldn’t deny that their talks had been rather fruitful indeed and that the dwarves’ involvement in the battle against the orcs had played a rather big role in it.

“Well, no matter how we achieved it, the treaties are all done and signed.” Balin patted his satchel with the contracts. He never let them out of his sight at any moment; since paper was sparse and rather expensive, each party had only received one copy of the agreements that had been drawn up. They would immediately be copied upon stone to be put into the archive once they arrived back at the settlement, but until then, they had to be kept safe from everything from water to orcs.

“And a good piece of work it was,” Róa agreed. “I am glad we managed it, but personally I am rather happy to finally return.”

“Aren’t we all,” Oda nodded. They were only a short march from the settlement now; in a little while they would be able to see the first sentries already if they were still stationed at the usual spots. They were all weary now, limbs and bodies aching from than simple tiredness thanks to the road. Dwalin longed to finally sleep in his own bed again after more than a month away from home. He also longed to have some private time with Thorin; ever since Thorin’s health had been more or less restored they had either been too busy or back on the road to have any time amongst themselves.

Thorin smiled as if his thoughts ran along similar roads as Dwalin’s did. Dwalin still hadn’t really had the opportunity to talk to him about everything that had transpired, but he hoped he would soon; if only he could bring up the courage to do so. Talking to your partner shouldn’t be this hard, should it? The fact that Róa kept throwing knowing glances at them did nothing to help.

Dwalin began recognising the first trees and rocks by now and a feeling of relief began to spread inside him. They were finally back. Strange, by now he had even begun to think of their new settlement in Dunland here as home - for him, home was the people around him, those that he loved and that loved him and not so much the ancient Halls where he had grown up, although he still missed the green stone of Erebor with a fierce ache. However his family was all here, as were his loved ones, and if he had to choose he would always choose those closest to him first. He would sacrifice anything to see them safe.

Sometimes, when he looked at Thorin, he wondered how his friend was feeling about it – he knew that Thorin’s attachment to the mountain was stronger than his own, that his family name and feeling of honour would always be undeniably tied to the old Halls of their former home. Dwalin had caught Thorin more than once in recent days when he was looking northeast, towards where Erebor lay, an expression of wistful longing on his face.

“Do you think we will ever be able to return home one day?” he had asked him one night when they were both standing guard, Thorin leaning against a tree, the rough bark in his back helping against the tiredness. He kept denying vehemently that the lingering after effects of his injury caused him to get tired more quickly, but Dwalin knew him almost as well as himself and a lie when he heard it. However, it still didn’t keep Thorin from pulling his weight with the duties like everyone else. Only a fool would have attempted to stop him from doing so.

Thorin had shrugged, his eyes not wavering from their direction towards the East.

“I will do everything that is in my might so that we can,” he said very quietly. The determination in his voice could have melted ice from its sheer force alone. His words had given Dwalin pause, although they weren’t wholly unexpected.

“We all will,” Dwalin had told him, his hand squeezing Thorin’s uninjured shoulder. “You know we will.”

Thorin had reached up with his hand, brushing Dwalin’s fingers, as he nodded full of determination.

“And yet it is our responsibility to guide all of us, that of my grandfather, my father…” He shrugged a little. It was perhaps the first time when Dwalin truly understood the difference that their birth meant for them. He had always known that they were different of course, but he had never realised just how heavy the responsibility of having an entire folk to lead was weighing on Thorin's shoulders, even or maybe especially now that the mountain had been taken from them.

“You don’t have to take that responsibility on all by yourselves, you know?” Dwalin said carefully, his hand not moving from Thorin’s shoulder. “We’re all here to help you and do it with you.”

“But you are not the one that the people will look to for guidance.” Thorin’s gaze still wasn’t moving from the eastern nightsky. “You are not the one who they are going to blame if we never manage to return.”

That gave Dwalin pause. He didn’t quite know what to reply to Thorin’s words, especially since he could feel that they were both right and wrong at the same time.

“I don’t think they are truly convinced that the responsibility rests solely with you and your family,” he suggested carefully after a moment. “You don’t have to shoulder all their burdens by yourself you know.”

 “But that’s my purpose,” Thorin insisted, the well-known streak of stubbornness entering his voice again. “This is the space my family line has been occupying for centuries.”

Dwalin had sighed, well aware of the exasperation tingeing his voice.

“They all had someone to stand with them, you know? Their partners, friends, the rest of their families…I don’t think any of these people were alone in bearing the responsibility for our folk.”

Thorin shook his head, but didn’t say anything, probably knowing full well that he and Dwalin had rather different opinions on the matter and there was little to nothing they could do to unite them.

“Well, I’m here.” Dwalin grumbled finally. “And your siblings are too. As are your friends and the rest of your family. Please remember that.” He smiled a little before continuing. “You don’t have to do everything by yourself, you know.”

Thorin still said nothing, but after a moment his hand moved again and closed around Dwalin’s fingers, squeezing them. He had turned and smiled a little, but his eyes had looked lost, even as he had pressed a little kiss on his cheek. 

Dwalin shook his head as he remembered, not able to forget the little sadness in Thorin’s eyes as he had turned around. He had a nagging suspicion that this wouldn’t be the last time this would come up, but there was a little hope left in the back of his mind that maybe, one day, that sadness would disappear and he would see him wholly happy again.

For now, however, Thorin looked almost happy. His steps were eager and there was a lot of anticipation in his eyes as he looked towards where he knew their settlement was; just like every other dwarf in the group he was missing his loved ones dearly. Dwalin felt that same anticipation quicken his own step; although he was old enough to spend time by himself by now he had missed his parents. Most dwarves upheld strong ties to their families – it was rare that those bonds weren’t strong, although it did happen. In those cases many other families often offered themselves as surrogate parents and siblings to take in those who might not have been so lucky with their own families.

“Thorin!”

Dwalin looked up as a thin voice sounded through the air, a grin creeping on his face when he looked at the picture in front of him. Dís was on the back of one of their battle goats from the herd that the first settlers had brought from the Iron Hills, her entire expression one full of glee and Frerin leading the goat by its halter.

When Thorin looked up and shouted his siblings’ names Dís dug her heels into the goat’s flanks and the animal jumped forward, its halter getting ripped out of Frerin’s hands as he was looking on with a rather perplexed expression.

Dís was laughing as the goat galloped towards her brother, although a quick look at Thorin’s face showed Dwalin a momentary expression of terror. Undoubtedly Thorin already saw his sister with a broken neck on the ground. His worry, however, was unfounded – Dís somehow managed to get the goat to stop right in front of Thorin, not even waiting for it to come to a full halt before jumping off and throwing herself at her brother with full might.

His face was flooded with joy when he wrapped his arms around her and attempted to lift her up in the air.

“I missed you!” Dís shouted, her voice muffled as it disappeared somewhere in Thorin’s clothes.

“I missed you too, _namadel_.” Thorin ruffled her hair and kissed her gently on the forehead. The smile on his face seemed wide enough to fall off any moment.

“Dís! You can’t simply ride off like that!” Frerin had finally arrived as well, his face a grimace torn between worry and anger for his sister and joy at seeing his brother back and alive again. Thorin simply laughed and extended an arm to include his brother in the hug between the three siblings. After a moment Frerin sighed and wrapped his arms so firmly around Thorin that Dwalin thought he could hear his bones creak all the way to where he was standing.

His attention, however, was quickly diverted from the happy family reunion when he heard Balin’s happy voice calling out and saw his parents striding down the road, together with Hulda and Dori. Dwalin thought about running towards them the same way that Dís had assaulted Thorin with her love, but reined himself in at the last possible moment. He was a grown dwarf, he should be far beyond such displays of affection and carry himself with the proper dignity and-

With a shrug of his shoulders, he started running. Propriety could wait – he was happy and there was no shame in showing his emotions. With a little laugh he barrelled into both of them, Varna and Fundin both wrapping their arms around him at the same moment. Varna reached over and ruffled his mohawk with an amused smile – it had grown a lot wilder since he had left, Dwalin remembered with slight guilt.

“One of the sentries reported that you were coming back,” Fundin told him after Balin had joined them and had received his fair share of embraces from their parents. “So we quickly decided that it would be a pleasant surprise for all of you if we would come and meet you on the road home. Dís in particular insisted. And then of course Frerin had to come along and Dori and Hulda came too, and, well…” He shrugged, with a twinkle in his eye.

Dwalin felt a tiny sting in his heart when he looked around and saw that Oda was simply standing around looking slightly lost – what remained of her family after the fall of the mountain had opted to stay in the Iron Hills for now and none of her friends here had evidently made it here to greet her for now.

“Oda! So glad to see you back!” That was Frerin’s voice calling out to her. Apparently Dwalin wasn’t the only one who had noticed her predicament. A tiny smile crept on Oda’s face when she saw everyone coming towards her and a little bit of the previous sadness seemed to disappear from her eyes.

“Young Vigdís wanted to come as well,” Fundin told her with a little glimmer in his eyes, “but she was stuck in the middle of some negotiations for a set of jewels so there was no way she could have made it here in time. She told me to tell you that she’s sorry.”

“Oh.” In contrast to everything that Dwalin knew about her, Oda seemed to be _blushing_. “That’s…nice of her. Ah.”

Dwalin only noticed that he was positively gaping at her when he felt Thorin’s elbow in his ribs.

“Don’t pretend like you weren’t just as shy,” Thorin murmured. “I can remember you being flustered rather well…”

“I was never flustered,” Dwalin whispered back. “Just unsure. These two are just obvious.”

“Nobody will ever be more obvious than you were,” Balin interjected, his expression completely serious. Thorin and Dwalin both glared at him until he lifted his shoulders and turned away again. Exchanging another glance, the two dwarves shrugged, although a few of Thorin’s fingers snaked around Dwalin’s when he thought that nobody else was looking.

"Should we move back towards the settlement?" Varna had obviously noticed the air of embarrassment that had enveloped the group and motioned towards the village that still lay hidden beyond the treeline.

With a thankful little nod Oda shouldered her packs anew and set herself at the head of the group, her steps fast and sure. Apparently she could not wait to be back and tell Vigdís what she thought of her message. Thorin helped Dís back on the goat and took the reins in hand after exchanging a glance with Frerin. Not that he would be able to hold back the animal if it decided to run off again, but at least this way he had an excuse to walk close to his sister.

The travelling dwarrows left it to Balin to relay the success of their mission to the ones that had come to meet them. Although Balin had never been one to be overly succinct in his descriptions, his long-winded speech at least gave them the opportunity to simply enjoy being close to their loved ones. In whispers, Dís and Frerin told Thorin about everything that had happened in the settlement that they thought what was important - Dwalin smiled a little at their priorities. Apparently all the ponies were doing rather well indeed - three of them had foaled and if Thorin hadn't stopped him, Frerin would have described every single detail of the young foals' lives from the moment they were born to now.

From time to time Dís interjected into her brother's stories with details of her own that she found important. Dwalin was fascinated by how much she seemed to have grown in the weeks that they had been away; instead of only talking about herself she kept mentioning many things that she had observed happening in the settlement like any good ruler would. Dwalin fervently wished it would never come to this but if both Frerin and Thorin were ever not there to take their place on the throne, Dís would surely be more than suited to the task.

The biggest topic amongst all the dwarrows was, of course, the orc attack. Dwalin and the others had found out a few things after Hyrea's messengers had returned and had known that although the settlement had been attacked, the losses hadn't been too severe, but of course it was different to hear an account of the events from the dwarrows themselves.

According to Frerin and Dís only four of their people had actually died. Dwalin took their names and painted them deeply in his heart. He had vowed to himself earlier on that he would never forget any of those who fell in defence of their people - and that also included those they had fought alongside in the towns of men. Thankfully none of their food stores had been destroyed, however, and what damage the orcs had caused they had been able to repair quickly. To his surprise Dwalin heard that several of their goats had fought as well, causing not inconsiderable damage amongst the wargs.

"This one was the fiercest of them all," Dís said proudly and patted the neck of her riding animal. "He managed to ram his horns into a warg's belly and rip it straight open!"

Dwalin felt his eyebrows climb up to his hairline. It wasn't like anybody of Thorin's family to sound so bloodthirsty. Dís kept on talking, however, completely unaware of how some of her words had come across. She confided in Dwalin and Thorin that she had wanted to help with the fighting but that all the adults had forbidden her from doing so. They had given her the charge of all the other dwarrows too young to fight as of yet and told her that she would be the last line of defence should everything else fail. The pride in her voice was unmistakeable at having been given such an important task.

Dwalin an Thorin murmured their admiration whereas Frerin simply seemed relieved that his sister wasn't complaining about not being allowed to fight any longer. Their musings were interrupted when Dori, who had run ahead, came back grinning and pointed down the road.

"We're here!"

The trees in front of them thinned until they could recognise the shape of several houses not far away. Dwalin let out a relieved breath and shared a quick smile with Thorin.

They were finally home.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe my baby is three years old *wipes tear*. Thank you to anyone who has been part of this and might even still be reading! And although it might not look like it, I'm actually not just writing around aimlessly, I know exactly where I'm going and where I want to stop ;).
> 
> Also, little warning, there is some light smut in this chapter.

 

“And thus we concluded negotiations and made our way home,” Thorin finished with a small flourish of his arm. Thráin nodded in acceptance of the report and motioned for his son to take his seat again in the provisional council hall that had been erected.

Thorin suppressed a small sigh of relief, not wanting his father to know just how tired he really was from the journey. From Dwalin’s concentrated frown he could see that he wasn’t the only one who was exhausted – Dwalin only wore that expression when he was desperately trying to keep himself awake, probably by biting the inside of his cheek or a similar activity. They’d had no time to truly recover after their arrival back in the village, just barely a few moments to scrub their faces. Thorin had thrown on a new shirt but Dwalin was still wearing his travel-stained clothes. Thráin had called for a council session immediately in the name of his father so everyone would hear the report that they brought. Thorin had given as concise a summary as he could, leaving the finer details of their agreement for Balin to explain, to underline his importance in everything that had happened.

The other dwarrows that had returned looked just as exhausted, although the happiness to be back with their friends and loved ones shone through on their tired faces. Oda in particular seemed to be positively beaming even when she was stifling a yawn, with Vigdís sitting next to her.

“We are all glad to hear that your negotiations went even better than hoped for.” Thráin had risen from his seat and was addressing the assembled dwarrows again. His gaze travelled over the companions that had come onto the road with Thorin, catching all of their eyes just for a single moment. “Our thanks to all of you and the sacrifices you have made.”

His eyes seemed to rest for a split second longer on Thorin than anyone else and suddenly he had to keep himself from shifting on his seat like a 20 year old under his father’s scrutiny. He hadn’t told him about the injury yet but there was very little that escaped Thráin’s gaze. Thorin forced himself not to reach up and rub his shoulder where it was still aching faintly, especially after such a long day. He had probably done so far too often already for his father not to know what was going on.

“Yes, our thanks.” An unexpected voice came from behind Thráin as Thrór rose from his provisional throne. Most council session so far included him in name only since his slow forgetting of things had only advanced in the time that Thorin and the others had been away. Still, according to ancient law Thrór would remain king until either he abdicated or death claimed him, even if it was truly his son that was doing the governing of the dwarrows under their rule at the moment. Now, however, Thráin stepped aside to make space for the king.

“We thank you all who have made this treacherous journey and brought back such good news to us. Your efforts did not go unnoticed, nor will they go unrewarded.” Thrór nodded to himself as if he had just said a very wise thing. “I think there should be a feast in your honour. Yes, a feast would be good. Thank you.” He nodded again and sat down on his throne. Thráin displayed none of his feelings about his father’s sudden speech outwardly, although Thorin could have sworn he saw a slight glint of sadness in his eyes.

“We will have a feast then to celebrate the safe return and success of those who have returned from their travels to the Dunlendings. The feast will take place tomorrow,” Thráin added with a glance at weary dwarrows in front of him. Thorin felt an absurd surge of gratitude rise in him. He feared that if the feast had been today, he would have stumbled over his feet and fallen asleep right after the first mug of ale. “Balin will speak about the details of the treaty reached with the Dunlendings tomorrow to all those who are interested.”

Balin sat up a little straighter at Thráin’s words, unmistakable pride entering his bearing.  Being trusted with such a big task was an honour, especially to someone as young as him, and that nobody else seemed to have any objections only bolstered his pride.

Shortly after, their assembly was dismissed and as if acting on a wordless agreement Thorin and his father both helped Thrór up and accompanied him back to their home. Dwalin and his family trailed behind, chatting quietly between them. Thorin wondered what he was to do for the rest of the day; he longed to have some quiet moments for himself and Dwalin and maybe even simply stretch out on his bed and do nothing, but the duties of a prince obviously forbade to do as much. With a sigh he turned to his father after they had arrived home.

“Is there anything else for me to do?” he asked, trying not to sound as tired as he felt.

“I still need to inform you of everything that happened in the settlement whilst you were gone,” Thráin told him. “And I believe Dís and Frerin wanted to show you a few things they deem of particular importance as well.”

“We should start with bringing me up to date on the village’s affairs then,” Thorin suggested, trying to suppress a yawn. He should be eager to do this. He was the prince, it was his _duty_.

“Or, perhaps you would like to wash off the dust from the road first,” Thráin said, a little smile appearing on his face. “I told Frerin and Dís to run ahead and heat and bring up some bath water earlier.”

Thorin could feel his limbs sagging in relief, although he still felt slightly guilty. A bath did indeed sound heavenly, although he felt bad that his siblings had been commanded to bring him water. He would have rather done it himself.

Suddenly Thráin pulled him into a tight embrace. It was so unexpected that Thorin didn’t really know what to do for a moment – his father had always been more than sparse with physical affection. Thráin’s hand thumped his back and after a moment of thinking Thorin brought up his own arms to return the embrace.

“I’m proud of you, son. Your Ma would have been too. You did well.” The words were muffled through Thorin’s hair and their clothes but he could hear them well enough. He squeezed tightly, not knowing what to say as memories of his mother came flooding back into his mind, their edges still sharp in their pain.

“Thank you, _adad_ ,” he whispered as they separated again. His father looked almost embarrassed and if Thorin hadn’t known better he thought he’d seen a glint of wetness in his eyes.

“Now go take your bath. I know how tiring journeys like that can be.”

Thorin nodded and plodded off towards the bathroom, not knowing what to make of his father’s sudden display of affection. Together with the memories if his mother the emotions formed a maelstrom in his mind and he almost sighed with bliss when he saw the large tub in their bathroom filled to the top with obviously hot water. He winced only ever so slightly when he undressed and the skin pulled at the fresh scars in his shoulder. Dipping his toes into the hot water he already sighed with happiness, hoping that nobody heard his groaning when he lowered himself inside fully. Pure bliss.

Just as he leaned back and was about to close his eyes there was a knock on the door.

“Thorin? Can I come in?”

Dwalin.

“Mhmmmm,” Thorin replied, not moving a single bit in the tub. Not even a herd of wargs trampling through the living room would be able to get him out of here right now. The door opened and Dwalin walked in, drawing up short when he saw Thorin in the bathtub. Was there a faint blush on his face? It was hardly possible, given that they had seen each other naked plenty of times.

“Sorry. Didn’t know you were already in the tub. Frerin said I might catch you before and…” Dwalin shuffled his feet.

“I don’t mind,” Thorin smiled and waved him closer. “And since when are you so bashful? Come and join me, now that you’re already here.”

Dwalin’s head jerked up slightly.

“Don’t you think the tub is a little small for the two of us?” he asked.

“Nah, we’ll fit,” Thorin grinned, suddenly in a rather playful mood. He _liked_ seeing Dwalin so abashed.

“Uhm. If you think so.” Ever so slowly Dwalin began to peel off his dusty travelling clothes. Thorin watched him without trying to hide it – there was nothing about Dwalin’s body that wasn’t beautiful to him, down to every single scar and unevenness. Finally Dwalin had finished, his clothes scattered on the floor next to the even pile that formed Thorin’s.

“And now?” He asked.

“Come in,” Thorin repeated impatiently, waving at his friend. Still hesitant, Dwalin walked over and stared into the tub rather pointedly before setting one foot in it.

“How-“

“Oh, just sit down, will you?” Thorin reached up to poke his partner’s ribs and began pulling at his arm. Dwalin batted at him but Thorin insisted and before they knew it he lost his hold and fell into the tub to Thorin’s laughter, splashing half the floor and of course their clothes with water. Well, at least he was sitting now. And on Thorin’s lap at that.  

“Well. Uhm. The water _is_ nice,” Dwalin had to admit.

“And that’s the only thing?” Thorin snaked his arms around his friend from behind and propped his chin on his shoulder. “I’m insulted.”

A little laugh left Dwalin’s throat at that and he leaned back slightly until his back was firmly pressed against Thorin’s chest.

“Not the only thing,” he grumbled. Thorin eyed him with a satisfied little grin before his gaze travelled downwards and he could feel his eyebrows arching. Well, at least Dwalin’s supposed bashfulness made sense now.

“Dwalin, are you getting hard?”

For a moment you could have heard a pin drop in the room. Then Dwalin yelped and tried to move away from Thorin.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I wasn’t…I mean I didn’t…you are so beautiful and the way you sat in the tub and you being so close to me and…I’m sorry,” he finished lamely.

“Well, I think your dick isn’t,” Thorin mused, trying very hard not to laugh. He didn’t know what it was about this situation that amused him to no end – he was usually by far the more bashful one when it came to sexual matters and his utter inexperience with them, but somehow seeing Dwalin so shy woke up something playful inside him. It was a badly kept secret that he enjoyed teasing Dwalin more than he probably should. “On the opposite, it seems rather excited.”

“You’re just being cruel now. I already said I’m sorry, didn’t I.” Dwalin almost sounded like he was _whining_. Thorin couldn’t suppress a laugh.

“There’s no reason to be sorry,” he finally said, just to take away the crushing shame that seemed to hunch Dwalin’s shoulders. “It’s natural after all.”

Dwalin didn’t reply but Thorin could still feel his embarrassment radiating off his skin like tangible heat. Thorin took a deep breath. They had never gone this far before, but somehow he felt as if the moment was right. He licked his lips.

“Do you…do you want me to do something about it?”

He hadn’t thought it possible but Dwalin hunched even more.

“You don’t have to do something that you don’t like just because I can’t keep it down,” he said sheepishly. “I know you aren’t, well, you know…” he gestured with his hands looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else in this world than here.

“Well, today I’d like to try it out,” Thorin shrugged. “Although you should decide quickly. Who knows how long this mood will hold.” The last was added with a small devilish grin and his feet deliberately rubbing on Dwalin’s thigh.

“Really?” Dwalin sounded surprised. “It’s really…okay for you? I mean, I can get out and do something quickly and then come back, so…”

“No, stay.” Thorin put his arms around him again and pulled him close. Dwalin still seemed as tight as a bowstring. “Relax. It’s okay. Really.”

Dwalin grunted something in response that he didn’t quite understand. Thorin sighed and bent forwards to press a little kiss to his shoulder, his hands slowly wandering down Dwalin’s chest, finger curling briefly in the beautiful strands of hair growing from it. Once they closed around Dwalin’s rather prominent erection he could feel a sigh escape his partner. It didn’t take long for Dwalin to relax fully – and not very long for Thorin to bring him to fulfillment either. To his surprise it didn’t seem all that difficult now, although he was sure that this was probably one of the worst handjobs Dwalin had received in his life.

“Did you like it?” Thorin whispered in Dwalin’s hair as his partner leaned back against him with a happy sigh, all the tension bled from his body now. “I’m sorry it was so crude, I-“

“Och, not at all.” Dwalin grabbed one of Thorin’s hands and intertwined their fingers. “Thank you. And you are sure that you don’t want…” Dwalin gestured a little again and Thorin laughed.

“No, I’m fine. Way too tired for much to be going on down there I think. I just like having you here.”

Dwalin looked as if he couldn’t understand why Thorin wasn’t spouting a raging erection as well. Thorin simply shrugged. It just didn’t seem to be in his nature to get riled up as easily as his partner did, although he sometimes wondered if something was the matter with him, if he was abnormal for his body not behaving the same way Dwalin’s did.

“Is there anything else I could do for you?” Dwalin asked. “I feel slightly guilt for, you know, you doing all this for me and I’m just sitting here and…”

“Don’t worry,” Thorin smiled and kissed his shoulder again. “Although, now that I think of it…you could wash my hair.”

“I would love to do that.” Thorin could hear the returning smile in Dwalin’s voice. “Although…I think we should use different water. Not this one, with all its dirt and, you know…”

“Agreed.” Thorin sighed regretfully. No matter what this bathtub was filled with, the water was still warm and Dwalin’s weight was comfortable against his chest, making him almost drowsy now.

“Then I think we should get to it before you fall asleep,” Dwalin laughed and now it was him who was poking Thorin’s ribs with his finger. He turned and pressed a quick kiss onto Thorin’s nose before climbing out of the tub. “You wait here,” he added, ”I’ll go and get some fresh water.”

It wasn’t until later when Thorin sat in front of Dwalin and positively hummed with bliss at having his fingers massage his scalp that he remembered how it had all started.

“What did you want to talk about when you came in earlier?” he asked. Dwalin’s fingers stopped for a moment before he continued.

“Why do you think I wanted to talk to you and not just have some private time?” Dwalin shot back innocently. Thorin laughed.

“Because you always have a certain look in your eyes when you want to talk to me.”

“You know me too well,” Dwalin grumbled, but there was no anger in his voice and his fingers remained as careful as ever in their ministrations of Thorin’s scalp.

“So, what was it?” Thorin stretched slightly. It was one of the rare moments when he felt completely at ease and relaxed; he could have talked about quite a few things now that he would usually rather avoid thinking about. The fingers of Dwalin’s one hand travelled down lightly over Thorin’s hair and across towards his shoulder, where the new set of scars sat.

“You need to stop hurting yourself for the sake of others,” Dwalin said finally. It sounded as if he had been thinking about these words for quite a while. Thorin sat very still for a few moments before he shifted a little.

“The choice isn’t mine to make,” he said tightly. “I will do what is necessary.”

“No.” Dwalin continued with his motions, adding some more water to the lather of Thorin’s hair. “You do what you _think_ is necessary. You are no use to anybody dead.”

“And yet I am no use either if I wouldn’t do everything possible to protect my people,” Thorin told him. It was strange – on an abstract level he knew that they were having an argument, but it didn’t quite feel like one to him. Instead he was filled with a vague sadness that Dwalin seemed to fail to understand what was so incredibly important to him.

“I didn’t say that you should never _do_ anything,” Dwalin sighed. “I just said you should be more careful. There are people who care about you, Thorin, and it hurts us knowing that you are so reckless. We are your people too.”

This time the pause between them was even longer.

“I know,” Thorin said after a while. “But I simply can’t...” He shook his head. It was so hard to explain what he meant, how the thoughts in his head sometimes formed this giant knot that nothing seemed to be able to cut through. “I’m sorry. I’ll try and be better. I just-“

He lifted his arms helplessly. Dwalin sighed behind him but still he was as gentle as ever.

“I don’t want you to feel bad about it or apologize. Just…realise that it’s not up to you to correct every single wrong in the world. And stop being so reckless. At least without telling me about it beforehand.”

Thorin stretched out his arms and hos head over backwards so that he could see Dwalin’s face and pull him down for a kiss.

“I’ll try.”

Dwalin grumbled something beneath his breath but for now, that answer seemed enough for him.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought of the day: What if the ‘dragon sickness’ in Thrór was really just slowly progression dementia and his fixation on the treasure only arose because all the pieces held such strong memories for him of his people and their history :) :) :)


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gifts! Music! Yay!

As the seasons progressed, the dwarves slowly eased into their new lives in Dunland. It was neither easy nor pleasant most of the time, but little moments of joy remained, sometimes even overshadowing the bleakness of being a people without a home. Dwalin could slowly feel a measure of peace return to his bones - far more so than Thorin, that much was for sure. His friend and partner was still as restless as ever, often going beyond what was needed of him and never giving himself a moment's rest.

On Durin's Day after they had returned from the Dunlendings Dwalin gave him the first of the official courting gifts - a comb made entirely from white bone, strengthened with metal inside so the teeth wouldn't break and set with two small blue gems that he had saved up all summer for.  

A smile lit Thorin's face when his fingers travelled over the comb, following the fine engravings Dwalin had put on it himself in endless work whenever he thought Thorin would not be there to see.

"Is this warg bone?" Thorin asked after he had examined the comb for a bit and admired every detail.

"Yes. 'Twas the one who almost killed you, back with the Dunlendings."

Thorin laughed.

"You took the time to harvest its bones after slaying it?" He stepped closer, pulling Dwalin's forehead to his before kissing him. "You're becoming soft," he whispered into the kiss.

Dwalin grumbled something under his breath that could or could not have been a denial. Formally, Thorin now had until next year's Durin's Day to return the courting gift, but of course their minds had once again been working similarly. Thorin gestured for Dwalin to wait for a moment until he returned with a small package wrapped in leather.

"You were a bit faster than me," he said with a smile. "But I had something that I wanted to give to you as well."

Dwalin unwrapped the little package in his hands with hesitant motions, breath catching slightly in his throat when he caught sight of what lay beneath the leather.

It was a hunting knife in its sheath. Nothing elaborate or overly complicated or ornamental - just a simple hunting knife, engraved with a few runes on the hilt, perfect in its balance and make. Dwalin didn't even want to know how many hours Thorin had spent perfecting it.

"I thought you might need a good skinning knife with how often we are out hunting these days," Thorin told him, seeming slightly bashful. He had never been good with dealing with other people's gratitude or shows of affection, although Dwalin was firmly convinced that with his and his siblings' help Thorin was slowly improving.

"Indeed I do," Dwalin grinned, pulling his partner close again. "Thank you."

Thorin seemed honestly relieved that Dwalin liked his gift and took the time to press a kiss into his hair before helping him to fasten the sheath to his belt. Dwalin shook his head a little; how could he not have loved Thorin's gift?  

"Do I get a gift too?" A not-so-small-any-longer form pushed between them as Thorin was fastening the last straps of the leather. He laughed and reached over to ruffle Dís' hair, his eyes sparkling with affection.

"You'll get one later, just like everyone else," he told her with a wink. "This one was special."

Dís pouted at that. Mahal, but she had grown in these years since they had arrived here. If she continued like this she'd grow at least as tall as her brother one day, towering over most other dwarves like the Line of Durin seemed wont to do.

"And I'm not special?" she asked.

"Of course you are," Thorin smiled, rubbing her nose with his thumb. "But Dwalin is the one I'm courting and he just gave me his present, so..."

"Being in love is so weird," Dís murmured. "Makes you do strange things. Well, I'll be over with Frerin because the Silver Dance is starting soon. You two should come as well."

"We will," Thorin promised her. "Just give us a few more moments."

Dís nodded and ran off to join with all the dwarrows milling about and getting ready for the dance. Dwalin shook his head as he looked after her, his fingers interlacing with Thorin's without even truly noticing. It was good for them to have a moment like this, a moment where they could breathe and just be themselves, unburdened by any expectations or pressing matters for the day. It wouldn't last long, they both new, but for now they snatched whatever they could get.

Dwalin was content simply leaning against Thorin and feeling his warmth seep through his skin when a loud voice suddenly rang out.

"NO! Are you sure?"

Thorin and Dwalin immediately jumped apart, rounding the corner next to them in worry that something might have happened. What they were greeted with, however, seemed to be rather the opposite - Róa was standing in front of Hulda with shining eyes, barely able to contain her joy.

"I am," Hulda said with a little smile, grasping Róa's hand. "Although I hadn't planned on announcing it to the entire settlement until the pebble had grown a little more..."

"I'm sorry." Róa murmured, her face slowly colouring crimson. "I was just so surprised. And happy. And ahhhhh..."

"A pebble?" Dwalin could feel a big grin splitting his face as he walked towards them. "Hulda, does that mean that you..."

Hulda nodded, putting a hand on her belly. Dwalin laughed and enveloped first her, then Róa in a hug, Thorin following closely behind.

"Congratulations!" he wished them, his heart still overcome with gladness. He knew they had both wanted another child and sibling for young Dori; and if, so Mahal willed, the pebble would survive their first year once born it would be the first dwarven child named in Dunland, a symbol that their people would be able to endure even under the most adverse of conditions.

"Well, there's still a while to go yet until they will see the light of the world," Hulda said quietly. "Much could still change."

"Only for the better though, I hope," Róa grinned, her boundless enthusiasm clearly enough for both of them.

"So we all hope," Dwalin grinned back, slinging an arm around Thorin's shoulders. Usually Thorin was adverse to such public displays of affection but today was a day out of the ordinary and he moved closer to Dwalin, his side pressing into his partner's.

For once, their hope seemed justified - this year they had amassed enough grain and livestock to last them throughout the winter without starving or the need to slaughter any of their ponies and riding goats. Indeed, the trade deals they had made with the Dunlendings meant that they had more coin in their pockets when the first snows of winter fell, cutting them and their trade caravans off from the rest of the world for the winter. Furthermore, the orcs seemed to be discouraged by their failure to wipe out the mountain settlements earlier that year and, hindered just as much by the snows as everyone else, the winter remained mostly quiet and with only a few minor attacks. It was as if everyone was taking a deep breath, waiting what the next summer would bring to them and whether they would remain without a catastrophe for a while longer.

Little Nori, child of Hulda and Róa and sibling to Dori, was born in the following summer and named the year after, much to the delight of the entire settlement and amidst a new surge of former Erebor dwarrows coming in from the Iron Mountains. His cries echoed through the settlement, costing not only his parents some much needed sleep at night. Dwalin was at times afraid that Róa would fall asleep during her shifts guarding the settlement.

As the years went on, however, the cries of course grew less and less although there were soon more from other pebbles born to other families; no matter the fact that they had lost their original home, the dwarves endured. Tragedy and happiness went in hand in hand, as they always did when there was plenty of living to be had. There were mining accidents and new ores to be found, trade deals that were brokered and others that were broken; dwarrows died and were born, all part of the giant cycle of their lives. What had once been planned as a provisional settlement became a more permanent one and slowly Dwalin began to wonder if maybe, just maybe they would spend the rest of their lives here, without ever seeing the mountain again. He never dared to voice such thoughts when with Thorin, of course, but they remained in his mind nonetheless and from other dwarrows' expression he knew he wasn't the only one who felt like that.

Evidently, not even Thorin's siblings seemed to fully believe in their return to Erebor anymore. They never said anything out loud, but Dwalin could see it in their eyes. It was especially evident on an evening almost ten years after he and Thorin had first exchanged courting gifts - Thorin's nameday had come and although he always refused celebrations, his family and friends would never accept anything less than at least a small party for him. Everyone had brought gifts as well - small and useful things, for the most part, or little hair ornaments and rings that Thorin couldn't possibly refuse to take.

Everyone save Frerin, that was.

"Frerin, don't you have anything?" Dís asked him innocently when everyone else had handed over their presents. Frerin shuffled his feet and, uncharacteristically for him, averted everyone's gaze instead of confronting them head on.

"I, uhm." He shrugged. "I thought I could do it after dinner. It's kinda...well, I just wanted to show it to Thorin after dinner."

"Whatever suits you best." Thorin smiled and gave his brother a hug, indicating clearly that he wasn't angry about Frerin's rather strange wishes. Truthfully, if it had been going after him, he'd rather not have received any presents. It irked him that money was being spent on him that could be much better used on the survival of their people. That he did the same for his family and friends simply because he loved them didn't quite come into his mind that moment.

At Thorin's request they kept the dinner to a small affair, not the giant banquets that the nameday of the king's heir had been in Erebor. He had always felt uncomfortable during those anyway. The evening passed with splendid food and much laughter and banter between them as everyone did their best to make Thorin laugh as much as they could, especially Dwalin. In one of the quieter moments between them a few years back Dwalin had told him that his laughter was one of the things he loved most about him; and since then Thorin had always tried to give it more freely, especially when his partner was around.

After their meal was over, his brother tugged at his sleeve and gestured at him to follow him into one of the backrooms. Thorin nodded and fell into step beside him, gesturing at the others to remain behind when they wanted to follow him. He rightly sensed that his brother didn't want anyone else to see, at least for now.

"So what is it that you wanted to show me?" Thorin asked, once they had entered the other room. Frerin rolled his shoulders a little and then gestured to the bundle that sat on a chair at the other end.

"There. My present. It's...well, I've spent a few years on it and I was scared you might get angry and it's so big and-" He bit his tongue to keep himself from babbling. "Just open it, please?"

Thorin slowly walked closer, already beginning to guess what the present might be from the shape beneath the cloth. "Frerin, you didn't..."

Frerin said nothing, fiddling with the clasp on his beard instead. Thorin swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry as he carefully unwrapped his brother's present. It was the thing he had first suspected - a harp, standing tall and proud, polished until it shone and with a packet of fresh strings next to it. It was covered in fine engravings - Thorin had known that his brother had been taken more and more lessons with the woodworking masters in their settlement, but he hadn't known that he had progressed so much. The harp was covered in scenes from the stories of their people, intertwined with their own family symbols and Thorin's initials. It was, simply stated, a masterpiece.

He was not worthy of it.

"You aren't speaking," Frerin said, worry tingeing his voice. "Are you angry?"

"No, I'm..." Thorin shook his head, reaching out hesitantly to touch the polished wood. He hadn't touched an instrument since the mountain had fallen, but suddenly his fingers itched to take it up again. "Frerin, this is _beautiful_. I don't...something this beautiful is wasted on me."

Frerin frowned angrily at his words.

"Don't say that. Are you telling me I _wasted_ all this time?"

Thorin raised his hands, suddenly feeling ashamed. "No, that's not what I meant. Mahal, Frerin, this harp could be at home in a king's cavern with all its beauty. I don't..."

He shook his head once more, still not knowing what to say.

"Then simply accept it. I spent ten years saving up for this and working on it; I wanted you to have something beautiful, something lasting. And I know how much you used to love playing."

Thorin nodded, not trusting himself to say or do anything else. Instead he drew his brother into a tight hug, holding on for a long while.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you, thank you, _thank you_."

"You're welcome, _nadad_." Frerin carefully extricated himself from Thorin's grip, keeping one hand on his shoulder. "And now...the biggest present you could make _me_ is to actually play it." He smiled broadly, the usual confidence finally back in his gaze.

Thorin took a deep breath, reaching out towards the harp again. This time he allowed himself to truly _feel_ it. It was as if he could almost hear a faint thrumming of the wood, the silent hum of a myriad of songs yet to be played.

"I got the strings from a harp and lute maker in the next town over," Frerin explained. "He told me they were the very best he had and he seemed of the trustworthy sort. He also helped with shaping the base before Narin arrived and could help me further."

Thorin nodded and unwrapped the little package Frerin had put next to it, testing the strings with his fingers. His teachers in the mountain had made sure that he knew his instrument inside out first before ever letting him play, and it took little effort to recall how exactly a harp had to be strung and tuned. He didn't even notice Frerin leaving the room as he busied himself with the harp and the strings, carefully putting them all in one by one and spending quite some more time with tuning them the best he could. He was far from the ability that his teachers and the masters in the mountain had possessed; but for now, it would have to be enough. Seeing that the door to the room was closed, he hesitantly set his fingers to the strings, suddenly feeling as if he was about to jump into a giant chasm, not knowing what would expect him once he hit the ground.

The first notes, as expected, were hesitant and frail, sounding almost wrong in the quiet air of their home. Thorin gritted his teeth and kept playing - the temptation to simply stop and give up was strong, but he had never been one to give up, not even when faced with the most adverse of condition. Slowly, his fingers remembered again what it was like to wield an instrument instead of a tool or weapon. He could feel them aching slightly from the unusual strain, but the memory of playing was embedded deeply into his muscles - he had been playing the harp for over a decade when Erebor had fallen.

After a while he trusted himself to attempt more complicated songs than the simple exercises he had been playing so far. Old songs, etched into his memories from countless nights on his parents' and grandparents' knees in the great halls of Erebor, songs that were as much part of his blood and bones as they were of the stone he had grown up in. After a few songs his fingers finally seemed to have gained back their old flexibility, despite their occasional stumbles. He sank deeper into the music, losing himself completely in the sound of the past, of his people, not noticing anything around him anymore.

He stopped playing after what seemed like an eternity, the last notes fading away slowly as his fingers kept hovering over the strings. Thorin only looked up when complete silence had spread throughout the room.

Dwalin and Dís were standing in the doorway, watching him with a slight smile playing around their lips. Thorin shifted, feeling almost bashful.

"Sorry that we didn't announce ourselves," Dís said, "But we were wanting to look in on you and you didn't notice when we opened the door, so..."

"It's fine." Thorin gave them a small nervous smile. "I'm sorry, I know used to be better when playing but I guess I just got...lost."

"It was beautiful." Dwalin's smile was so made that it seemed to make the room itself shine with light. "Mahal, I missed hearing you play."

Thorin smiled back, his hands holding onto the harp as if he never wanted to let go.

"You should play for the others, too. Music such as yours is meant to be shared," Dís added. "And I'm sure they'd all love to hear it, especially grandfather."

Her last words sent a pang through Thorin's chest as he remembered his grandfather as being the most encouraging out of everyone for him to learn the harp, going as far as having the first one he owned made for him. With a little sigh he gripped his instrument more tightly and nodded.

"Then I will play."


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the slight delay, Comic Con, visitors and PhD work ate up my time more than I'd anticipated! This chapter contains a big time skip and kicks off the last big story arc of this baby which will culminate in Azanulbizar at one point. Thanks for still hanging around! \o/   
> Also, the next chapter might be slightly late as well, given that Dworin Week is in the second week of July and of course I want to deliver my usual barrage of fics!

It was music that accompanied them from then on. Stories were told and retold in the notes from Thorin's harp, the sounds from Dwalin's fiddle and Dís' flute. Voices intertwined to sing the songs of their people, old and new, to commemorate and preserve the roads their lives had taken. Sigvór had always said that no matter how much they had written down of their folk and its course in Middle-earth, it was music that made their history come alive and stay that way. After a long evening of song and storytelling, Dwalin was inclined to believe the words of Thorin's mother more than he already had.

The seasons came and passed with the echoes of their songs and Erebor slowly turned into another dream, spoken of at quiet evenings next to the fireside. The wish to return became a more abstract longing for many if not all save the royal family, perhaps signified most pointedly by the pebbles like Nori who grew up never having known the mountain in the first place. Dwalin still dreamed of it occasionally, of getting lost in its halls of green stone, running and running, listening to his loved ones dying in the wrath of the dragon and never being able to rescue them in time.

He woke from those nightmares sweating, hands grasping blindly for Thorin at his side until he was sure that it had indeed been all nothing but a dream. More often than not, Thorin seemed to be awake as well, although he never mentioned the dreams that were haunting him and Dwalin never asked. Some things better remained hidden, he thought, although he could well imagine the images that plagued Thorin at night. He wondered whether their parents or the other dwarrows were plagued by similar nightmares.

Their little settlement in Ered Luin kept growing steadily in size until there were several villages instead of one, dotting the valleys around. They upheld a steady trade relationship with the Dunlendings not too far away. The mines they were digging into the depths of the Misty Mountains yielded decent amounts of ore, although no spectacular riches or any gold; it was enough, however, to get by without starving for most winters, especially once the quality of their work became known amongst the traders visiting their settlements.

A good twenty years had passed after they had first settled in Ered Luin when their world was shaken again. It was one of the first days of true summer, the air just warm enough to make everyone sweat even up here in the mountains. Thorin had gone to inspect the mines with his father and siblings and Dwalin was working on an order of knives in the little forge attached to the house his and Thorin's families now all lived in together.

There was a knock on the door post and he turned, almost dropping his work in surprise when he saw who was standing there.

"Namara?!" he exclaimed, mustering the slightly worn face of the woman standing in his doorframe.

"Indeed it is, Dwalin, son of Fundin." A smile stretched over the ranger's face at Dwalin's recognition. He laughed, gesturing at her to enter.

"Apologies for not greeting you properly," he said, as he returned to his work with his tools in hand. "But I ought to finish this before the metal cools down too far. Please, have a seat."

"Don't let me interrupt you," Namara smiled, taking the offered seat and stretching her legs in front of her. Dwalin had to suppress several curious glances in her direction - he sometimes still forgot how fast men aged compared to his own folk, even the Dúnedain who were rumoured to be far more long-lived than their kin. Grey was threading Namara's hair now and there were far more lines on her face than before, although nothing diminished the sharpness of her gaze or the quiet humour in what seemed like her remaining eye. The other was nothing but an empty socket anymore and Dwalin wondered what kind of skirmish had cost the ranger her sight there.

She watched patiently as Dwalin finished the piece that he was working on and washed the soot and grime off his arms in the barrel outside.

"What brings you here to Ered Luin?" Dwalin finally asked. He wished Thorin was there; his partner had always been better than him at initiating conversation and having small talk.

"Didn't I promise I would try and visit you again one day?" Namara winked. "A lot has happened since, but none of us Dúnedain would ever forget a promise once it has been made. And I wanted to introduce my son to the dwarrows we met on the road so long ago - he has always been heartbroken that he wasn't with us at the time."

"So you brought your family with you!" Dwalin was both surprised and delighted to hear so - he had been wondering whether Arathorn was chief of the Dúnedain now or whether his father yet lived.

"Indeed I did. I believe they are currently attempting to find a place to sleep for tonight. How are your people faring?"

"We have all survived and fared well, although it was a close thing at times." Dwalin sighed and stretched out on the bench next to Namara, still quietly amused at how much shorter his legs were compared to hers. "Hulda and her wife have welcomed a sibling to Dori to the world since we settled here and trade has slowly been flourishing, especially once the Dunlendings had gotten used to us. The orcs and their beasts still come down the mountains from time to time but so far we have managed to fend them off; and as you see, more and more dwarves have decided to settle here, once it become known that this site was secure. And well...life is life, I guess." He spread his arms slightly helplessly, not quite knowing what else to say. Namara laughed, looking around and taking in the bustling activity around her. Dwalin watched her for a moment before adding: "You should probably ask Thorin or the others if you want to know more. How are the affairs of the Dúnedain going?"

"You have given me a better summary than most could with an entire hour of speaking," she said. "And we are well, thank you. Although few, our people are clinging on to life, much like yours. Arathorn is chief now after his father's death, a good decade after we met. And new hope is blossoming where we never thought it would - a unexpected flowering here, a streak of clear blue sky there. Our children are continuing to grow, even as we watch over them. Sometimes, I cannot believe quite how fast..." Her voice was trailing off as she gazed wistfully into the sky.

Dwalin wasn't quite sure what to reply, but he was saved from his embarrassment when a couple of other voices called out in their direction. He turned and saw Thorin walking down the road, together with his father, siblings, and two men, one of which Dwalin recognised as Arathorn. The younger one next to him had to be his and Namara's son - the family resemblance was hard to miss, especially as they walked next to each other.

For a moment there was quite the commotion as they all greeted each other, Namara introducing their son Argonui to the others, exchanging the necessary pleasantries and repeating most of what she had told Dwalin before.

"There is no need for all of you to pay for lodgings above the inn," Thorin told them. "My family would be honoured to receive you as guests in our own house - without your help this settlement might not exist like it does now and we will forever be indebted in gratitude to you for it."

Behind him Thráin nodded whilst Dís seemed rather excited. She didn't whip back and forth on her feet anymore like she would have done as little dwarfling twenty years ago; but the joy in her eyes was unmistakeable. Dwalin wondered if Óin already knew about their unexpected visitors. He hadn't forgotten just how heartbroken Óin had been when Namara had left - and she would surely be delighted to hear that the young dwarrow had kept practising healing, incorporating the knowledge he had learned from her into their own dwarven ways of healing.

"We will gladly accept your offer." Namara inclined her head slightly to accept their guest right before the informal mood returned to their group. Soon enough they were all caught up in ardent conversation as Thorin led them back to their house, talking about anything from the weather to orc raids to how hard the coming winter might be. Dwalin was content to listen and throw in the occasional comment, his shoulder brushing Thorin's as they walked closely side by side.

A strange sense of peace weaved its way through him at the motion and once again he thought that he had grasped a moment of true happiness with friends surrounding him and his love by his side.

*

"So what other news are there from the world?" Thráin put down the mug after taking a large sip. They were nearing the end of their dinner and talk had been weaving back and forth for a while whilst they were eating, centering mostly around the dwarves' lives and that of the Dunlendings farther north, including the Eastern lands surrounding Erebor and the Iron Hills with whatever sparse news they all had been able to gather from there.

"Things are quiet for now, although evil is always stirring somewhere," Namara told them after another sip from her own mug of ale. "Most lands have not seen a major orc raid in a few years apart from the Dunlendings down here - some say that their forces were depleted but Arathorn and I believe that they are simply biding their time, multiplying their numbers as far as they can before mounting another attack towards the world of men and dwarves."

Silence descended around the table for a moment as everyone contemplated her words. Dwalin wondered whether they would ever be free of warfare in Middle-Earth or whether the orcs, Easterlings and dark creatures were only part of a large cycle that kept repeating. And if all those creatures were gone, would not the men and elves find other reasons to constantly be warring with each other? Maybe there truly was no end to any of this.

"Have you been to Khazad-dûm?" Thrór's voice broke the silence. There was a glint in his eyes that made Dwalin sit up straighter. Something was going on with the old king and he wasn't sure it would end well for them.

"Khazad-dûm? You mean the old dwarven mines?" Argonui asked, his glance sliding over to his mother.

"Yes." A shadow of rage at the young man's apparent forgetfulness concerning dwarven names clouded Thrór's expression quickly. "The largest and most beautiful of all dwarven kingdoms yet in Middle-earth, home of our ancestors and unparalleled in its wonders. Have you been anywhere near? Are there still orcs to be found in its depths?"

"We have not been too close," Namara said carefully. "The Misty Mountains have ever been the territory of orcs so we avoid crossing them on low ground whenever possible and usually take the higher passes or ways around. That said, we have not heard many report of orcs seen around the Dimrill Dale, no."

The light was gleaming again in Thrór's eyes, more intently this time. Dwalin hadn't seen him this coherent and focused on a single issue in many years. It was almost as uncomfortable to watch as it was elating. There was something...not quite healthy about his gaze.

"And do you think one might be able to...venture in there? To see the old wonders with their own eyes?" Thrór continued. Dwalin could see a frown appearing on Thorin's face at his grandfather's words. His hands were clutching the spoon in his fingers almost to the point of breaking. Namara exchanged a slightly puzzled glance with her husband before sudden understanding dawned in her eyes.

"We would strongly advice against such a thing," she said carefully. "No one has been in there for many decades and there is no saying what lurks in the depths of Khazad-dûm."

"Still, you said it seemed like the orcs had not been seen there and decreased in numbers." Thrór was relentless. The same mind that had made it possible for an entire folk to leave the Grey Mountains and return to Erebor and lead them to prosperity once more had now set its dogged sight onto Khazad-dûm and Dwalin knew as well as anyone that there was nothing they'd be able to do against it.

"We said that they might well be biding their time in their secret hiding places until they have numbers strong enough to overrun us all," Namara told him, brows creased in worry.

"And we thank you for your information," Thráin interjected before Thrór could say anything else. For him, the topic was clearly over. He turned towards Argonui, his voice loud enough to prevent any change in topics by anybody else.

"So you have been travelling with you parents for these past few years then?" he asked the young ranger.

"For almost twenty years now, yes," Argonui said carefully. He had said very little during the course of the meal, seeming the more quiet sort, although his keen eyes belied his silence. Without doubt he was picking up everything that was going on around him. "And not only with my parents."

He fell silent again, tearing another edge off the bread on the table.

"Who else did you go out ranging with?" Dís asked. "Do the Dúnedain take turns or are you all out at the same time?"

"Most of us are out ranging once we have reached the appropriate age," Argonui told her. "The ones who stay back are mostly the very old, young or infirm who cannot go out far anymore; they will take care of the younger ones whose parents are needed out in the lands."

"But would that not leave your homesteads open to raids from orcs and others?" Frerin wondered, obviously fascinated by the revelation.

"It would, but our homes are very well hidden and it is doubtful they would ever find their way there. And there are always sentries with them with a few fighters, although even our old ones can still fight when necessary. We would never abandon our own people."

"Why don't you simply live underground like most dwarrows usually do?" Dís asked again, frowning slightly. "That way you only have to defend one small entrance."

"And where would we find such caves and underground covers in our homeland?" Namara spread her hands as she momentarily took over from her son. "I do not doubt the wisdom of your words, but our lands are different from the mountains where your folk usually makes their home. The ground is soft and earthen and even where there are hollows, they are hardly big enough to house an entire people."

Dwalin felt slightly sheepish that he hadn't thought about Namara's argument before. As dwarrow he was used to always make his home where there were mountains and enough rocky underground for them to make their home or at least have mines, like they did here. But of course, not every land could be like that; and he supposed that men didn't see as much for a need for having to be within rock and stone as dwarves did. The desire to spend an entire lifetime beneath the open sky was as alien to him as his need to be underground at least from time to time likely was to Namara and her family.

"I hadn't thought of that, my apologies," Dís inclined her head slightly as she echoed Dwalin's thoughts. "I guess for us dwarves it's natural to go where there are opportunities for us to build large enough caverns inside the earth, since that is where we feel most at home."

"Then why are you still living in houses here, not inside the mountains?" Argonui inquired. There was no malice in his voice, just curiosity.

"Because carving out new homes inside the stone is something that takes a long time and has to be done with much care," Dís told him, evidently not insulted by his question. "We do not want to violate the mountains; rather we use what is already there and enhance existing structures. Much like you would not fell an entire forest to make space for your homes, but use existing clearings instead and perhaps enhance them."

"I had never considered it to be like this," Argonui said. "I thought that all that dwarrows thought about in relation to mountains was how to wrest their riches from them. Thank you for explaining to me how wrong I was."

Such simple words and yet their impact was almost tangible. The dwarrows at the table had stiffened markedly at Argonui's words; the accusation that dwarves cared naught for the natural world they lived in and only thought to multiply their treasure was almost as old as their folk themselves. Often enough those sentiments were used to paint them as something of lesser worth than elves and men and none of the dwarves seated at this table would ever forget the slights that had been thrown at them at one point or another and the deep-seated fear and anger that stemmed from such humiliation. For Argonui to acknowledge the error of his ways was almost like a symbol that things would not always have to stay the same.  

"Perhaps we should ask questions more often rather than simply judge," Namara mused. "I, for one, would love to know what you add to your stew because its taste is rather unique compared to the one we make and I love the new note..."

The slight tension that always came with serious topics at the table dissolved as her question made them all lapse into laughter and lighter conversation again. Dwalin watched and wondered about the course their future would take - especially now that something seemed to have been ignited in Thrór again, something that he felt would not lead to a good end for any of them.


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a happy chapter I'm afraid. Also from a POV I've been neglecting for a while!

Namara's visit provided them all with a welcome change in routine. After hearing who their visitor was many of the dwarrows in the settlement took delight in showing them around and demonstrating everything that they had built in the past decades. Namara and her family seemed rather impressed with what they saw and Thráin was glad that he was able to show them what dwarven settlements were truly like, not the gaggle of homeless dwarves they had met on the road. True, the settlement was still far from the splendour of what his folk _could_ achieve if they only had the time and resources to do so. Still, this was better than nothing.

Arathorn was most impressed by the finesse that went into the various mechanics around the settlement, from the way the water distribution was organised to the fine gears and cogs that helped opening heavy doors with ease. Namara, in the mean time, was deep in conversation with the smiths amongst their people. Many of them guarded the secrets of dwarven smithing jealously for fear it would be misused; but more than a few seemed to be unbothered by Namara's presence, offering to share one or two tricks with her.

It was amazing for Thráin to see how quickly many of the younger generation had taken to the Dúnedain. He had expected it from his own children and the others of their travelling group since they'd had time to get to know each other; but not from the other young ones in the settlement. However, the attraction of novelty seemed to overshadow the fear of it. The most unexpected part for Thráin, however, was the behaviour of his father.

Thrór seemed to spend more time than most with Namara and her family. He kept asking them about the lands up north, particularly their ancient home of Khazad-dûm. Even four or five times after they had told him everything they knew about the dwarven stronghold he kept asking and digging for more information.

"Adad." Thráin leaned over to his father's seat, trying to get his attention. It was the final dinner before Namara, Arathorn and Argonui would be travelling on and the entire settlement had pooled their resources in order to provide one last big gathering and feast before their departure. "Father, do you want any more of the roast?"

Thrór didn't seem to hear him, amiably chatting with Arathorn about what the best ways were to get north and reach the doors of Khazad-dûm.

"Father." Thráin raised his voice, slightly patting Thrór's arm. The old dwarf finally seemed to notice, shifting his attention towards his son. Thráin pointed at the remnants of the hog roast on the table. "Any more roast? Or ale?" he asked again.

"Nono, it's fine," Thrór told him distractedly. "Let me speak to this man, Thráin."

Thráin tried not to show how much his father's words hurt him. Thrór had once been a mighty dwarf and great in his affections for his son and family; now little of that seemed left at times. It wasn't that Thráin doubted the existence of his father's love for his family and his people per se, it only seemed as if his mind was wandering elsewhere more often than not and he seemed to forget about his own thoughts and feelings. At times he wondered whether Thrór would ever return to be the dwarf he had once been and although his mind knew that it was unlikely, his heart still refused to accept it.

"You've asked him several times already, father," Thráin said as gently as he could. "I doubt he has anything more to tell."

"Does that mean you never want to return? Never want to see our ancient home and halls reclaimed?" Suddenly Thrór _did_ shift his attention fully to his son and Thráin almost found himself shrinking back from the intensity in his gaze.

"Of course I do," he found himself saying. "But we have barely made a life for ourselves here and the halls of Khazad-dûm are far too vast to be reclaimed by any of our folk at the moment."

Thrór's eyes darkened.

"Traitor," he hissed. Somehow, the word fell upon a moment of silence amongst the other dwarves around them and every conversation stopped. Thráin didn't know what to say. It seemed as if time itself had been halted in its tracks and he desperately wished that he could go back to a different time.

"You will not call me that," he said quietly. A primal scream could not have been louder.

Thrór only stared at him, eyebrows drawn angrily, whilst Nár next to him tried in vain to smooth over the situation.

"I'm sure my king didn't mean it like that," he said nervously. "He was only caught in the momentary excitement of being able to see our ancestral homeland again that his words slipped out unwanted and..."

Nár's voice trailed off as Thrór lifted his hand, same as he would have done during a council meeting to silence the arguments in the room.

"I did." His voice was dangerously quietly and there was a glint in his eyes that began to frighten Thráin. "Do you not care for our people, son? Do you have such little respect for the dead that you would never try to avenge them?"

That was all it took for Thráin to lose his patience.

"And do you have such little respect for the dead that you would get yourself killed on a fool's mission?" he shouted. He could see some dwarrows next to him cringing at the volume of his voice but suddenly he didn't care anymore. He had never lost his temper as often as his wife, but when he did the resulting explosion was usually of a rather grand scale. "And yes, father, that's what it is, a fool's mission! No dwarf, not with a thousand dwarrows in their army, could simply march and take back Khazad-dûm. It pains me as much as it does you, but the best we can do is to survive rather than let our thirst for revenge rule us!"

His voice was booming in the end and Thráin could feel the anger bubbling up inside him. He had grown almost too angry to care that everybody else was watching.

"How _dare_ you talk to me this way." Thrór rose from his seat, anger burning in his eyes. "How _dare_ you!"

Thráin stood up as well, years of frustration slowly unloading itself in this moment.

"I will do as I have to!" he shouted back. "You have neglected your people, your _family_ for years now! Do not pretend that I wasn't the one governing in your stead for years all of a sudden!"

The silence in the room was almost deadly now and Thráin cringed inwardly. He hadn't meant to say these words out loud - he knew that Thrór still cared, that it had to be some kind of disease that might not even be his fault that made him act this way. Still, all the hurt that had accumulated over the years had now found an outlet and once said, those words could never be taken back.

"So is that what you want? Remove me so that you can be king?" Thrór leaned forwards and there was something dangerous in his behaviour, something that Thráin had never seen there before. He still remembered his father's booming laugh in better times, how he'd always had a treat or comforting word for his son and how he would spoil Thorin and his siblings as much as he could at every possible opportunity. Thráin had always hoped to become half the king his father was. What made it worse was that glimpses of it were still visible from time to time - when Thrór would play with the pebbles and young dwarfling for example, or try and give another piece of forgotten knowledge to the crafting dwarves in their settlement.

"You know that was never my wish." Thráin's voice was cracking, if from anger or grief he didn't quite know himself. Thrór snorted.

"And how much should I believe you? A dwarf who doesn't even want to follow his own king's, his own _father_ 's orders?"

"No matter what you might believe," Thráin took a step closer to Thrór, catching his gaze with his own, "in your heart you know what my utmost loyalty was always for you and our people. Always."

Thrór sneered in response, but before he could answer again a hand appeared on Thráin's arm. He looked over to see Thorin, his face almost ashen and eyes a whirlstorm of emotions.

"Father, don't," he said very quietly. "It's no use."

For a moment Thráin felt as if he wanted scream at him, too, shout that of course this was of use, this was his _father_ they were talking about here, one of the greatest kings and dwarrows their folk had ever known. Then, however, he saw the heartbreak in Thorin's face and the expression on Thrór's and took a step back.

"We'll talk later, _adad_." He didn't take the time to see whether the usage of such a much more intimate word had changed anything in Thráin's behaviour but turned around and walked away, wishing that the other dwarrows would simply stop staring at them. Thorin stayed back at first, seemingly unsure whether to follow, but when Thráin opened the door to one of the adjacent empty rooms he was there, softly closing the door behind him.

They stared at each other in silence for a few minutes before Thorin sighed.

"Grandfather will calm down soon," he said, although his voice was lacking conviction. "Tomorrow everything will be forgotten."

Thráin shook his head although he didn't contradict his son. They both knew the truth behind his words. As Thráin looked at Thorin now, saw him leaning back against the rough wooden walls of the room that they had always wanted to build in stone but never had the time to, he suddenly realised just how quickly Thorin seemed to have grown up.

The bright-eyed young dwarf that Thráin had watched find his way in the world had died together with Sigvór in the fires of Erebor and during the gruelling months afterwards. And even though Dwalin and Thorin's younger siblings seemed to have been able to give some levity back to him, the innocence of those early days would never return. Thráin hated to see how quickly it had been stolen from Thorin and how the burdens of impending kingship in the future were weighing him down. Sometimes he wished they would not bear the responsibilities of the royal family; it would have been a small price to pay to see the heaviness on Thorin's brows lift. By Mahal, but he missed Sigvór, more than he could say.

"I wish he wouldn't be so set on regaining Khazad-dûm." Thráin frowned. "I don't believe that the orcs have vanished; there still have to be thousands if not more in its depths. Going there would be nothing but a suicide mission."

"We all know it," Thorin shook his head slightly. "But grandfather believes that he still owes all of us something for letting the mountain slip out of the Longbeard's hands for the second time. I don't think he realises just how much he's already given and that that's enough. Maybe, if we had only told him more often..."

Thráin nodded then shook his head, slightly astonished by how well Thorin seemed to understand his grandfather's plight.

"I don't think it would have helped, no matter how often we would have told him. He seems to be in a state where he can barely believe himself, let alone others."

Thorin opened his mouth as if to reply, but then closed it again as he couldn't find an answer.

"Is there anything else you need, father?" he asked carefully, one hand already on the door back outside.

"No. Just a few moments alone."

Thorin nodded and exited the room, leaving Thráin alone with his thoughts once again. He paced up and down a few more times, wondering what was happening in the room outside and both strangely tempted and reluctant to go back out.

When he finally returned to the banquet he found that both his grandfather and Nár had already left. Thráin felt shame at how relieved he was at the discovery; however, he was glad that their next confrontation would have to wait until morning. To his surprise, many of the guests had stayed and although he hated pity, the sympathy in their eyes was real and touched a softer place inside him.

He didn't know what to say to Namara and her family who were still sitting at their places, now in conversation with Frerin and Hulda. Thorin and Dwalin were talking quietly but stopped as Thráin stepped up. At the sight Thráin tried to fight the sting of jealousy inside him. He had always hoped that he was a good enough father for his children to trust him with anything, but at the same time he realised that emotional closeness was not something that had ever come naturally to him. Perhaps, if he had paid more attention, if he had-

Thráin shook his head almost forcibly as he sat back down. It wouldn't do for him to lose himself in sentimentality now. What was done was done. He had just idly picked up half of a bread roll to wipe up his stew with again when Namara leaned forwards in his direction.

"I hope our presence didn't cause too much trouble for you," she said quietly, inclining her head slightly. "Your hospitality has been more than generous and we are deeply grateful for welcoming us so readily."

"It was no trouble to us." Thráin acknowledged her nod with one of his own. "This year so far has given us plenty to fill our food stores and the last winters have not been too bad. It was our pleasure to finally be able to repay for all you've done during our journey back then."

"Still, not everyone would have shown such generosity," Namara smiled slightly. After a quick pause she continued, her expression growing serious once more. "My own grandmother once treated a family visiting our settlement very coldly even though they had been our trade partners and friends for years. It took us a while to realise that it was connected to her slowly forgetting the people around her and becoming fixed onto a few things that had always meant much to her throughout her life. She just...slowly seemed to slip away from us and none knew what to do."

Thráin sat perfectly still as she spoke. Part of him was angry that she would dare to pry into their lives and offer advice where it might not be wanted; the other was absurdly grateful to know that Thrór didn't seem to be the only one afflicted by these strange moods and troubles.

"Did she ever get...angry?" he asked hesitantly. "What did you do?"

"Yes, she did. Sometimes at the most insignificant reason that we couldn't understand. And what we did?" Namara shrugged, her fingers unconsciously tearing the bread in her hands to shreds. Her voice was quiet when she continued. "Nothing. There was nothing we could have done. No medicine, no amount of talking to her...sometimes it seemed as if she got better only to fall back the day after. Sometimes it seemed as if our words helped. Often it didn't. Watching her slowly forget everything she had once been was the most painful of all."

Thráin took a deep breath, staring past Namara at the walls. For a second he could hear his father again, raging and yet so keen on doing the best for his people that it hurt.

"I have heard of others, too," Namara continued after a moment. "I know it happens amongst all folks of men, not just us."

 _Probably not elves though_ , Thráin thought, bitterness surging through his veins. It had to be easy, being immortal and so far removed from the affairs of anybody that wasn't them that an entire people could be close to starvation and death and they didn't bat a single eyelid. Likely, their minds wouldn't get ill either, at least not like theirs.

"Thank you." Thráin didn't quite know what else to say. It was hard for him to look into Namara's face, to adequately convey the gratitude at her words and the astonishment that she would share something so personal with an outsider like him.

"I thought it might help to know that some troubles are shared between our people," Namara replied with a slight smile. "I know Arathorn would prefer me not to talk about it, but...what good are our experiences when we cannot share them?"

"Indeed," Thráin nodded. His attention got diverted when he heard Frerin and Argonui laughing loudly together, Thorin, Dwalin and Dís chiming in after a moment. It did him good to hear the sounds; no matter what might have gone wrong earlier, there was still enough laughter left amongst them so they wouldn't have to fully despair.

*

When Thráin woke up the next morning he felt terrible. Nothing had been resolved and the argument with his father was still weighing heavily on his soul. He wondered if he could broach the topic again with Thrór that day, now that both of their tempers had hopefully both calmed down.

Thráin scratched his head, knocking on his father's door as he did very morning to see if he was ready yet. There only silence behind the door and Thráin frowned - usually his father would at least grunt something unintelligible when he was still in bed. He knocked again and a third time when there was still no reply. A sharp pain of worry shot through him and suddenly he was almost too scared to open the door. Taking a deep breath he finally pushed it open, mentally preparing himself for everything.

What he saw was not what he expected but in a way it was worse than everything he had imagined: the bed was empty.

His father was gone.


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Choo choo, all aboard the angst train! Hopefully with the next chapter we'll be back to the normal schedule at the end of the month again :).

"He can't have gone far." Varna's eyes were trained on the mug in her hands that held some warming tea. Nobody here was strong enough to look each other in the eye, not yet. "Even if he and Nár left right after they disappeared from the dinner, they still have to be in the valley somewhere."

Thorin shook his head slowly. He glanced over at his father, but Thráin seemed almost lost to the world, the fingers of his right hand opening and closing slowly. He hadn't said more than a few words since they had assembled in their common room after his panicked announcement that Thrór had disappeared. It was clear as day that he blamed himself.

"Perhaps Namara and her family have seen them," Fundin suggested. "They had planned on leaving straight after dawn today; maybe they ran into them onto their way. We could send someone ahead on ponies to ask them."

"I'll go," Frerin volunteered without thought. Thráin didn't even have time to reply before Balin raised his own hand and offered to come with him. Frerin nodded at him and together they wandered out of the door, clearly unable to take the mood in the room any longer. It had become so heavy that it made it hard to breathe. For a moment, Thorin wished he could follow them outside. However, when he looked at his father it became clear that he was needed elsewhere.

"We should organise search parties," he suggested softly. "Two or three, in teams, fanning out in every possible direction they could have disappeared in. We can use the ponies for all the roads and paths so that we might catch them."

"They took three ponies themselves," Fundin said quietly. "I'm not sure..."

He broke off in the middle of the sentence, biting his tongue. There was no need for him to say what they already knew - that it was unlikely they would find Thrór and Nár before they had gone too far to catch hold of them again.

"But we know their destination, don't we," Dís perked up suddenly. It seemed as if the time in the room screeched to a halt. "We all know that he's going to go to Khazad-dûm."

"We don't know where, if at all, he's planning on crossing the mountains though." Thorin shook his head. "The route is so long, we could arrive either weeks ahead or after him and we'd have no way of knowing."

"We can't just let him go without following." Finally, Thráin looked up, whispering the words. "We can't just...give up on him. It's not right."

"No one here is going to give up on our king," Varna said, perhaps a little more harshly then she'd meant to. "We just...have to think of a good way to this."

"As soon as Frerin and Balin return, I will ride out," Thráin stated. "It is a long journey to Khazad-dûm, but perhaps I can catch him there or wait for him before he enters."

"You can't leave for so long." Thorin said the words before he had even thought about them. "The settlement..."

"You can act as a worthy ruler in my stead - you were always cut out for it." There was a note of grief in Thráin's voice, although Thorin didn't yet fully understand what it meant. "I doubt that I could lead them better than you."

"You should not leave alone," Fundin said heavily, exchanging an almost resigned glance with his wife. "We should-"

"No, you will remain here, and that is an order," Thráin replied sharply. "Your abilities are needed here, more than they are on my journey."

"Father, you cannot go alone." Thorin tried to make his tone unyielding, tried not to show any of the growing panic he was feeling. His father couldn't just _leave_. He wasn't ready to be the oldest one left of his family, wasn't ready to be without guidance, wasn't ready for any of this- He knew he sounded desperate, like he was begging, but he didn't really care much. " _Please_. At least take some of the guards with you."

Thráin fixed him with a stare and it was all Thorin could do to meet his gaze. If he was meant to take charge so early, he better practise now. Even if it felt like ice water was creeping through his veins every second, threatening to smother his entire mind in panic.

"I know Oda has been longing to see more of the countryside," Dwalin added. "And some of the others have wanted to see more of the world too, especially those that grew up in the Iron Hills before they came here."

Thorin nodded. They've had a few people joining them from the Iron Hills themselves who had never lived in Erebor; they had came for distant family, love, or because of a simple sense of adventure and wanting to see something new. He held on to those practical thoughts even as a voice in the back of his mind was screaming that he would never see any of these people again, least of all his father and grandfather, if they truly left.

"I will take four. No more, or we will move too slowly." Thráin's voice was deliberate and firm, making it clear that he wouldn't accept any counterarguments. Thorin racked his brain with anything that he could say to deter his father from his plans but came up empty; he recognised the way Thráin's brows were set, recognised the way his shoulders bunched and eyes blazed. Not even Mahal himself would be able to make him change his plans now.

"Please, at least take until tomorrow to prepare before you leave," Thorin said quietly. It was the last resort he still had. Their entire lives had been turned over within a single morning and he wanted nothing more than a moment to breathe, to _think_ , to consider what their next steps would be without his father charging ahead just as blindly as his grandfather had.

"No, it has to be today." Thráin shook his head. "With each moment that passes they're getting farther away and the chances of us catching them get lower and lower."

"You'll still need time to prepare everything." Thorin didn't care that desperation was tingeing his voice audibly now. He felt like he wanted to throw up; things were moving far too fast for him right now. "We need to let the people know as well. You cannot just disappear."

"I'll leave the task of informing the others to you," Thráin said, without reacting to the small gasp of the others around him. It was the most thankless task of all that he had left Thorin and an untraditional one at that. There was always a declaration before either the ruling king or their next in line left and to just leave it to Thorin was an almost blatant violation of tradition, one of which Thorin would have to bear the brunt off. He could almost hear the people whispering.

 _His grandfather has abandoned us and now his father's run away too_ , the invisible voices seemed to say. _Are they even fit to rule? Or is the Line of Durin doomed to end with them, pathetic and lost?_ Thorin shivered. Dís seemed to notice his discomfort, scooting closer and putting a hand over Thorin's arm, squeezing lightly. He closed his eyes briefly, only to open them again when his father stopped talking. Thorin realised that he hadn't even been listening to what Thráin had been saying anymore. He shivered again. 

"Sorry, can you repeat that?" He asked, forcing himself back into reality.

"We will head off early afternoon today," Thráin repeated, frowning. "I will inform the guards who are coming with me whilst you and Dís can procure supplies. I'll also leave a few written documents for you that explain everything you need to know. If not, you can ask Fundin or any of the other council members."

 _I have no other choice, do I?_ Thorin almost wanted to ask. He bit his tongue, however, and didn't say anything, knowing it would only serve to further the tension in the room. Of course he didn't have another choice. He was the dutiful son, doing everything his family told him to, no matter how hard it would be for him.

Thráin didn't wait for any further debate either, cutting off the others' comments with a movement of his hand.

"We will meet back here in three hours," he said curtly before leaving the room, the door slamming shut behind him. Thorin stared after him, hoping in vain that the door would open again with his father and grandfather walking through, telling him that everything was fine and that they would be taking care of everything. Nobody seemed to know what to say, but after exchanging a quick glance with Dwalin Fundin and Varna left as well, leaving Thorin alone with his sister and Dwalin.

He hid his head in his hands, only vaguely surprised to see that his fingers were shaking.  

"Thorin." That was Dís' hand, resting lightly on his arm. "Thorin, it'll be alright. I'm sure father'll find both grandfather and Nár and bring them back."

"No, it's not alright." Thorin shook his head, reminding himself to keep breathing. "It's not. Father might return, but unless Mahal decides to send us a miracle, grandfather won't."

There was a darkness in Dís' eyes when he looked up again and for a moment he hated himself with such a passion for destroying that small hope of hers that he felt like he had to scream. A decade or two ago he would have snapped at his sister, at Dwalin to leave him alone, but now he took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, Dís," he said quietly. "But you know grandfather as well as I. He'll get to Khazad-dûm one way or another if Frerin and Balin aren't lucky enough to catch up with them. I was hoping to keep father from going after him, but..." His voice broke and he shrugged, once again trying to cover up the storm inside him.

"No." Dís' voice was shaky and when Thorin looked up he saw the tears in her eyes and that here hands were balled into fists. These were not tears of mourning. She was as close to screaming as Thorin himself. "He won't destroy things. Not...not after everything that we've built. Not after everything we've been through. _No_."

"Dís..." Thorin reached out towards her but she pulled away before he could touch her, eyes blazing. She had never liked being touched when angry, Thorin remembered guiltily.

"I won't let it happen. Not again. I won't-" Dís drew another shaky breath. "I won't lose anyone else. And certainly not my family."

Thorin didn't know what to say to that. In his heart he was already sure that there was little to nothing they could do to stop Thrór and Thráin in their tracks, but he didn't know how to tell his sister that. He barely had enough stamina left to deal with it himself.

"We will do anything we can." That was Dwalin who had come closer to them, his eyes darting between Thorin and his sister. His fingers were flexing slightly like he didn't know what to do with this hands either. "I promise you, Dís. We- _I'll_ do everything in my might to make things right."

 _It won't be enough. It will be useless. It won't work_. The words were on Thorin's tongue but he didn't dare say them. They'd be contributing nothing to the situation. He tried to give Dís a smile but knew he was failing.

"I have to go upstairs and-" he gestured vaguely, hating himself for leaving his sister alone at a time when she needed him the most. But suddenly he felt like he couldn't breathe and he knew if he stayed he would scream and say things he'd regret forever. "I'm sorry, Dís. I promise I- I'm sorry."

Dís only stared at him, wide-eyed and all the anger drained from her in an instant; looking so lost that Thorin couldn't help himself but walk close and embrace her, burying his nose in her hair and telling himself that the wetness in his eyes was pure coincidence.

"I'm sorry," Thorin repeated again, so quietly that he wasn't even sure she'd heard him. Dís sniffled a little, but didn't reply. Thorin stepped back, suddenly remembering how he wasn't sure that his sister would appreciate being hugged at this moment. Dís still wasn't looking at him and he felt something inside him clench painfully, especially as he turned around and left the room. Instead of going upstairs like he had said earlier, however, his steps led him to the forge. There was a vague thought in the back of his brain that he had to busy his hands somehow to keep his mind from exploding and his body from shutting down.

Without thought he took the largest hammer he could find and a piece of scrap metal from the pile in a corner. Feeding the flames of the forge fire took longer than he would have liked but he did it anyway, flinching only slightly when he burned his fingertips on the coals. When he was finally pounding the metal with no plan or thought other than having to destroy _something_ , it felt as if the panic and despair inside had turned into nothing but burning anger, at his father and grandfather, at Mahal, at fate, even at his sister and then his mother for dying when they had needed her the most.

He wasn't sure whether he screamed as his hammer hit the iron again and again and again, but his throat felt raw when the a shadow darkened the doorway to the forge entrance. Thorin didn't look up; he knew who it was and didn't have the strength to think about what to do and how to act at the moment.

Dwalin came closer, waiting patiently for Thorin to stop pounding the metal in front of him. Thorin's arms were burning by the time he finally put the hammer down, sweat running down his forehead.

"Dís has gone to get the council together in hopes they might catch your father before he leaves and be able to convince him otherwise," Dwalin said carefully. His gaze travelled over Thorin's face down to his arms that were trembling from all the exertion. "She said you could join them later, if you want. It...it might be good to have you there, as the next in line."

Thorin gritted his teeth at Dwalin's words. Of course his sister would be the one who would take matters in hand, try to actually do something whilst he was trying not to destroy the entire forge in his panic and rage. His self-loathing was so strong that he could taste it on his tongue.

"I'll be there," he said, his voice rough. "I just...need to wash first. Change into something else."

"Thorin." Dwalin reached out and, when Thorin didn't step away, touched him lightly on his arm. "You know that none of this is your fault, right? That it's just terrible luck?"

Thorin snorted, although he couldn't hide the derisiveness in his voice.

"That's not what this is about," he said quietly.

"Then what is it?" Dwalin's voice was patient, measured but Thorin could only imagine how exasperated he had to be. Surely even Dwalin would be losing his patience with him now. "Is it about you getting so angry that you feel you can't do anything, not even be there for your siblings?"

Thorin felt as if the air itself got stuck in his throat.

"Yes," he finally said. It was close enough to the truth anyway and who, if not Dwalin could he tell? "I'm-"

 _Useless_ , his brain shouted. _Stupid. Foolish. Worthless. Nothing_.

"You are you," Dwalin told him, very gently, his fingers still planted on Thorin's arm. "Everyone...reacts differently to stuff. Dís once told me that she needs to act when she's angry or scared, needs to keep her hands and mind busy by doing stuff she deems 'useful'. She isn't angry at you, not anymore."

"I should be useful, too," Thorin presses out, hand closing around the hilt of his hammer again. "Instead I'm just standing here like some kind of _idiot_ and-"

"Hey. Hey." Dwalin very gently begins peeling Thorin's finger off the hammer. "This isn't about useful. You're doing the best you can even when it doesn't seem right at first. When you're so angry, you wouldn't be of use to anybody anyway, right? Just like me. Instead you try and get rid of it so that you can do things when you feel better again."

He paused, frowning.

"Wow, that sounded like I was trying to explain things to a dwarfling. Sorry. Point is you didn't do anything wrong when you had to look after yourself first."

"So easy for you to say," Thorin mumbled, but he didn't withdraw his fingers from Dwalin's touch. They felt good on his skin for now, gentle when they had no reason to be.

"You're always doing things right, unlike me."

Dwalin snorted.

"Well, that's a lie and you know it," he said gently. "I've made some terrible mistakes, _especially_ when I'm angry. Doesn't mean that I'm a bad person, does it?"

"No." Thorin shook his head. "You're...you're one of the best people I know."

"There." Dwalin nodded a little with satisfaction. "And you are, too. I know that doesn't help much at the moment but...whatever lies ahead, we'll get through it somehow. Together."

"I don't know, Dwalin." Thorin fixed his gaze on the hammer in front of him again. "I don't think we will, this time."

Dwalin said nothing but slowly pulled him into his arms, humming softly under his breath. The sound made his chest vibrate and reminded Thorin of the times he'd had a nightmare as a child, when his mother would come and hold him until his tears finally dried. It was warm, comforting and made him think of home.

Finally, he cried.  


	49. Chapter 49

Of course Frerin and Balin were unable to find a trace of Thrór and Nár. They returned in the afternoon, faces crestfallen and Frerin leading his pony by the reigns instead of riding it as it had somehow managed to hurt its ankle. Frerin didn't even seem to be surprised when Thorin told him about their father's plan to leave; he only nodded and led his pony away to care for its injury. Thorin felt another wave of anger surge through him that Frerin wouldn't stay and _talk_ , but then he remembered his conversation with Dwalin earlier and weariness rolled over him. His brother was probably just as exhausted as he was, if not more. And unlike his siblings, Frerin was even less inclined to share his feelings in a situation like this.

It was Dís who seemed to hold them all together. Thorin had no idea how, but she had been working all day, single-mindedly focused on pursuing her tasks and getting everything ready for their father's departure as if the urgency of the task could keep her emotions from boiling over. Thráin had been planning on leaving early in the afternoon, but as expected the council members wouldn't stand for him simply abandoning them. Despite Thráin's growing impatience, straightening matters out took all afternoon so that he was still there when Frerin and Balin returned.

Thorin had been doing the best he could, although he knew he seemed distant to the other dwarves; he was afraid that if he let any of his feelings slip through he might scream in anger or shed tears again. He had listened to his father explain the affairs of the settlement once more, accompanied him to the council and tried to answer any of their questions as best as he could. Dís had been there as well, calmly interjecting question after question to Thráin whenever something was unclear. Thorin was perhaps the only one who recognised the quiet desperation behind her eyes.

Thráin and his three companions, young Oda amongst them, finally left when only a few hours of daylight remained. Thorin had attempted to reason with him one last time, saying the danger of hurting themselves or their ponies wasn't worth the slightly earlier start; but of course his father had declined, already in a black mood because they were so delayed.

"Safe travels, father." Dís was staring up at Thráin as they were ready to ride, her face seemingly hewn from stone.

"Yeah. Come back to us," Frerin added. He had appeared at the very last moment between the other dwarves, the smell of the stables still clinging onto him. His gaze was almost a challenge as defiance hung around his shoulder like a cloak.

"I'll try." The attempt of a smile flashed beneath Thráin's beard. He turned towards Thorin, his face softening even more.

"I am sorry to have to put this burden onto your shoulders, _dushtel_ ," he said softly. A shiver ran through Thorin - Thráin rarely used such personal words, much less in front of others. 

"You could still remain, if you chose to," Thorin replied carefully. Thráin only shook his head, sadness in his eyes.

"Some things are inevitable. I'm sorry."

"As long as you return." Thorin couldn't help but voice the same demands and hopes his brother had. His father said nothing in return but looked straight ahead with a sigh. He dug his heels into the pony's flanks and, without another word, the little convoy set off in the direction of the setting sun to leave the valley their little settlement was in.

Thorin didn't know how long he and his siblings stood and watched the silhouettes of the departing dwarrows disappear in the forest. He only realised that he was shivering, this time from the cold of the evening wind, when Dwalin put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close, the warmth of his skin like a wakeup call.

"Let's go inside and have dinner," Dwalin suggested. "the rest of what has to be done can wait until tomorrow. "

Thorin felt as if all strength had deserted him now that his father was gone and the reality had settled in that he would be the one the others regarded as king from now on until Thráin hopefully returned. He could see the same exhaustion in his siblings' faces; Dís seemed almost slumped over and was unconsciously holding on to Frerin's arm. Thorin's brother, on the contrary, seemed stiff and rigid, movements as automatic as that of a hammer on iron.

"I'll make the food," Balin said matter-of-factly as they all trudged back to the house. "Dís, Frerin, could you two help with the preparation? I'll need several hands for peeling the potatoes and carrots. Thorin, Dwalin, could you make and bring in some more firewood? I think we're running low."

All three siblings nodded almost automatically, before Balin's words had even reached their minds. Balin had learned to talk like his mother; whatever she said would get done without disagreement, simply because the tone of her voice willed it so. Thorin had been trying to learn how to do it for a while now, although he still wasn't sure whether he had succeeded.

A short amount of time later and Thorin found himself next to Dwalin, methodically chopping larger pieces of wood into ones small enough to feed their fireplaces. Thorin wasn't feeling much of the rage that had powered him in the forge earlier; instead his movement were mechanic, one after the other, a monotony that resounded in his skull long after the axe had hit the wood. He was well aware of Dwalin glancing towards hi occasionally, but it didn't break up what he was doing.

"I think we have enough now," Dwalin finally said, nodding towards the pile in front of them. It was larger than Thorin had thought. 

"Yeah." He reached up and brushed a few sweaty hairs from his face. "Want to help me carry it?"

"Sure." Dwalin began picking up pieces of wood and putting them on his arm. They walked the way back into the house in silence. Thorin still didn't quite know how he felt or what he was supposed to think; where his thoughts had been racing earlier that day there were now sluggish and slow, as if he was wading through syrup. He was sure that Dwalin noticed, but his partner said nothing, only casting the occasional glance at Thorin.

"Thanks for your help." Balin looked up from his spot in the kitchen where he was still directing Dís and Frerin around to help with the cooking. "Dinner should be done soon. Dwalin, if you'd like to set the table..."

Dwalin nodded and Thorin floundered for a moment, not knowing what to do. He felt like he should help Dwalin, or his siblings, but something seemed to keep him from joining them. He stood in the main room for a moment, lost as if stranded there after a storm. Then his feet began to move almost automatically, towards the small side room that they used mainly for storage.

*

Frerin wasn't sure what to think. He was grateful that Balin had given them some work; peeling the potatoes, although not too difficult a task, did require his concentration so he wouldn't keep nicking himself with the blade. His fingers always became restless when he was agitated and today was no exception. _Especially_ today. He was glad he had ridden away earlier to help searching for his grandfather; otherwise he didn't know what he would've done.

He cast a covert glance at Dís but she seemed fully engrossed in the vegetables she was still cutting. Their dinner for tonight was already cooking on the stove, expertly minded by Balin, but Balin had been wise enough to see that Dís and Frerin needed some more work to keep themselves busy rather than being left to their own devices. He'd told them to prepare the same amount of potatoes and vegetables as previously so they would be able to pre-cook the food tomorrow. It would likely be a rather busy day anyway.

They didn't speak as they were working; there was little that could be said anyway. Frerin tried to avoid thinking about what the next few weeks were going to be like, but he was rather unsuccessful at it, his mind revolving around everything that was going on again and again.

He barely looked at Thorin and Dwalin when they entered to drop the firewood they had chopped outside, only noting a bloody scratch on the back of Thorin's hand that neither of them seemed to have noticed yet. They walked in an out for a while until Dwalin was told to set the table and Thorin seemingly disappeared. Frerin took another potato out of the basket and began to peel it with the little knife in his hands.

He almost dropped it when he heard the music. It was quiet at first, but soon began to gain in strength, the notes floating through the house as if carried by an invisible wind. Dís stopped what she was doing at almost the same moment as Frerin, both sharing a glance. Dwalin set the stack of plates he had been carrying back onto the counter and Balin was stirring the large pot on the stove as quietly as he possibly could. The sound of the harp was pure, an unexpected lightness to its notes that Frerin couldn't quite bring into accord with their current situation at first.

Neither of them moved; they all knew what they'd find if they entered the living and none wanted to destroy the fragile magic that had began to weave itself through the air. The melody that Thorin played was unfamiliar to them, but it was nonetheless beautiful. It flowed on, changing subtly from a slow, settled sound to one full of longing, carrying Frerin away to days back in Erebor that he now barely seemed to remember. He hadn't even noticed his hand wandering - but suddenly his sister's fingers were intertwining with his and he squeezed them gently. Thorin might not be able to put all the he felt into words to them, but it was carried in his music.

There weren't any expressions that could truly describe what it was that Thorin's music made Frerin feel. And perhaps that was how it should be - not everything was meant to be said out loud and put into terms that language could express. Frerin looked over at Balin and saw that he had his eyes closed, hands stirring the pot in front of him from time to time but doing nothing else otherwise. In contrast to his brother, Dwalin's eyes were wide open - he was the only one close enough to the open doorway to probably be able to see Thorin and Frerin could see his hands clenching the edge of the kitchen work surface. He was surprised to see tears in Dwalin's eyes.

Dís was the first to move again. She took up her knife, wiping her eyes with her sleeve and went back to work, although her movements were slower and more relaxed than before. Soon they all took up their tasks again, even Dwalin who stepped into the living room after a moment of hesitation. The music continued although it flowed more softly now as if to ease them back into a life where yet again everything had changed.

None of them spoke a word, but as soon as Balin began to ladle out their dinner and Fundin and Varna joined them again he put the harp away, carefully wrapping it back in its covers and placing it out of sight as if nothing had happened.

"Thank you." Frerin walked up to his brother and pulled him close, resting their foreheads together. There was no need for any other words than that.

*

That evening, Dís asked them to tell stories of Erebor. She hadn't planned on doing so; the request came over her lips almost spontaneously after they had cleared away and washed up the crookery. They had lit a fire in the hearth and were handing around some of the fine pipeweed reserves they still had, a strange but not uncomfortable silence hanging over them. Dís thought about the music Thorin had played earlier, thought about  all the words that had been left unsaid throughout the day and suddenly her mind was back in Erebor, trying desperately to remember what life there had been like, as the fog of time had already started to obscure her memory. She had been so young when they were forced to fled.

"What was it like in Erebor?" she asked. The silence in the room shifted, stiffened, became something else all of a sudden.

"What exactly do you want to know about?" Varna finally replied, turning her pipe in her hands.

"I don't know," Dís shrugged. "Anything. Everything. I...I feel like I'm starting to forget and I don't want to."

"For every big feast or celebration the banquet hall would be lit by hundreds of candles," Frerin said quietly. "It was like a sea of them, flames fluttering in the little winds that sometimes came up from the depths of the mountain. I used to hold your hand when you kept staring at them for hours; Ma told me that I couldn't let you out of my sight because you might try and touch them and hurt yourself."

Dís inclined her head, feeling a smile spread on her lips. Yes, now that Frerin mentioned it, she thought she remembered - the soft light of the candles, faint singing and laughing to rose to the ceiling of the large caverns, the feeling of being warm and happy and safe.

"One time, Thorin and I took you down to the caves," Dwalin chimed in now, his voice a soft rumble. "The deep ones below the cave of lights and the crystal cave although our parents," he shot a quick glance at Varna and Fundin, "had forbidden us to do so. But you wanted to see them so bad and we were convinced that between the three of us, nothing could ever go wrong. We went deeper and deeper until we reached the cave with the little pool. Stalagmites and stalactites all around it and this small pool of crystal clear water right in the middle, like a mirror. You thought we'd found Kheled-zâram and wanted to touch the water so bad. Thorin held you tight around the middle when you bent over, but you almost fell in anyway. The the water so cold and you shrieked when you withdrew your hand and splashed us all with water. We were all freezing by the time we got back up, but for days you wouldn't stop talking about how beautiful that cave was."

"I always wanted to take you back there." Thorin's voice was so quiet she could barely hear it. "But mother said we had to wait until you were older and then dragon came and..." he shrugged, looking lost. "There was never a right time."

"What there was a right time for though was sneaking into the bakery," Dwalin took over from Thorin again with a wink. "Thorin and I were always pretty good at it, but you and Frerin truly managed to perfect the art. You would usually distract them whilst Frerin sneaked around and stole whatever caught his fancy."

"Right, and then you always begged me for a share of the prize," Frerin nodded, laughter dancing in his eyes.

"And you never gave me any," Dwalin shook his head in mock insult. "I always had to convince Thorin to help me steal my own share."

"Be glad you didn't manage to convince me more often or there would have been no cookies left for the rest of the mountain." Thorin's voice was unexpectedly amused.

"The tradition of stealing cookies is a very old and time-honoured one, although you younglings never knew," Fundin added unexpectedly. There was a little twinkle in his eyes. "Thráin and I would always enter from different ends to have twice the chance to steal something. I have to say that, in our time, we were quite accomplished thieves..."

" _Father_ used to steal cookies?" It was something that had never entered Dís' mind before. "And you helped him?"

"Of course. There isn't a single dwarfling grown up in Erebor who hasn't tried to get at least _something_ out of the bakery."

Frerin's expression was very similar to what Dís imagined hers had to look like at the moment.

"I remember grandfather used to slip me and Dwalin some when he thought nobody was looking," Thorin said thoughtfully. Out of the three of them, he was the one who remembered Thrór the best in the time before something had seemingly begun eating away at his mind.

"He'd do it all the time when we were younger, too," Fundin said with a laugh. "Outwardly he tried to be stern and regal, but especially when your grandmother wasn't looking he would attempt to spoil us to the core, much like he did with you three when he thought he could get away with it."

Dís often wished that she knew her grandfather better. The dwarf that everyone older than her described in their stories seemed to be so different from the one she had lived with for the past few decades. And now that he was gone...she wasn't sure what to feel, but she did know that she'd rather that her father had stayed and not followed him. It was selfish, yes, but Dís thought she should be allowed at least a little selfishness after everything that her family had endured.

"I never..." She shook her head, laughing a little.

"What? Thought that were once young too?" Varna teased. "Trust me, we were _very_ young. And I remember a certain dwarf trying to woo me in the most embarrassing of ways..."

From there on the conversation devolved into easy banter and Fundin trying to keep his wife from divulging the more embarrassing of his attempts to court her. It made some much needed levity return to the room and as the night went on, Dís could feel her heart slowly growing a little more at ease.

 


	50. Chapter 50

Waiting for their father to return began to turn into a strange routine. Days passed, then weeks, then months without any news and somehow they all became used to the new order in the settlement. Life didn't stop simply because some of its occupants had disappeared; there was still ore to be mined, equipment to be mended and people to be minded. Frerin noticed how especially Thorin got drawn into the vortex of having to care for everyone, using it to push his own worries aside.

He almost seemed to blossom now that neither their father nor grandfather were there with their carefully surveying and at times of stifling attention. It certainly was hard for Thorin as well, to be thrown into ruling so quickly and brutally. Fundin, Varna and Hulda helped where they could and the gratitude in Thorin's eyes almost cancelled out his exhaustion at times. He became more and more decisive as time went on, seemingly beginning to trust his own judgement without feeling the need to rely on others' council before every possible decision. Frerin watched in wonder as the brother he had always known slowly seemed to turn into a king in all but name, finally coming into his own and doing what he had always been meant to.

The others seemed to observe it with the same sense of wonder that he did; Dís was blossoming alongside her brother, readily picking up the tasks of a royal heir, and soon her advice was almost as sought after as Thorin's. Dwalin and Balin were swept along with them and soon the whispered conversations that the line of Durin was at its end began to abate.

Frerin himself, however, felt like he was drifting. As the now second in line (not officially, not until they had definite bearings about what had happened to their father and grandfather) there were numerous tasks he should be completing, but he could feel his energy fading just thinking about them. He hid away more often than not, spent time with the ponies and out on the fields where they grew the hay for the animals. He had always enjoyed busying his hands more than his mind and the aftermath of Thrór's disappearance only seemed to heighten that tendency.

Both Thorin and Dís were far too busy most of the time to notice where he had gone and he enjoyed the solitude that looking after the animals and doing manual labour provided him with. It was there that Hulda found him one day, Nori trailing behind her as she helped out on the fields and was looking for a new wooden shaft for the hoe that had just broken in her hands.

"Frerin?" She stopped in the doorway, looking over to Frerin who was currently checking Daisy's hooves.

"Oh. Hulda." He turned and smiled quickly at her before finishing his inspection and allowing the pony to lower its foot again.

"Sorry, I didn't want to disturb you." Hulda stepped inside carefully, taking Nori's hand to keep him from getting too close to the ponies.

"Don't worry, it's fine." Frerin dusted his hands off on his tunic although it didn't do much good, with lots of dirt still caked underneath his fingernails. "Are you looking for something?"

"A new shaft for one of the hoes. Buri said they were somewhere in the stables perhaps."

"Oh." Frerin thought for a second. "I think they might be in the far right corner?"

Hulda gave him a grateful nod and walked on. Frerin went back to examining the pony's last hoof for any problems. All ponies thankfully remained calm although Hulda wasn't around them much; some of them had a habit of become rather agitated around dwarrows they didn't know. That Frerin was there seemed to help somewhat.

He could hear Hulda rummaging, then a loud clang and her chastising Nori for obviously having caused the entire stack of shafts to topple over. Frerin bit his lip trying not to laugh; he still remembered those days when Dís used to do exactly the same, often out of sheer curiosity what it might sound and look like when everything crashed to the floor. Or, quite simply, to annoy her brothers.

Nori said something back and Hulda laughed in response. The sound made Frerin think of his own mother as he moved on onto the next pony with his work. He still remembered her laugh, rich and loud full of life. The fear that they would forget was strong in him and all his siblings, especially since Dís had confessed to them one day that she couldn't remember anymore what colour their mother's eyes had been. From time to time Thorin and him took it upon themselves to tell tales of her to their younger sister, share memories that they remembered well so that they would never forget. Thráin, on the other hand, had always kept his grief private and enclosed it inside him; every memory of Sigvór seemed to hurt and he rarely spoke about her.

Perhaps they would talk about their father like this, too, one day. Trying to dredge up memories, sift them like hidden gems from the silt and muck of time. He shuddered.

Hulda finally returned with a new shaft in her hand and Frerin looked up as she walked past, taking a deep breath to steel himself for what he was going to say.

"Hulda?" he asked. She turned around and smiled. "Has there ever...do you know if any of those in the royal succession have ever abdicated? So that the succession would pass them over? Have-"

Frerin stopped himself right then and there. He had already said too much.

"I'm not sure," Hulda frowned. "I would have to ask around since I don't have the archives to look in anymore, but surely there must have been one or two cases in our history where it happened."

"Do you..." Frerin took another deep breath. "Do you know what the reaction was? Were they...exiled? Or...?" Hulda shook her head in reply, regret in her eyes and a tone of wistful longing in her voice that everyone associated with Erebor.

"Sorry. I know very little. As I say, the archives we used to have...you could ask Fundin? He is the one who knows most about the royal family's history as far as I am aware."

"No." Frerin recoiled slightly, thinking in horror of what Fundin would say of such a request. And from Fundin it would find its way to Varna and Balin and then undoubtedly to Dwalin and since Dwalin had never been able to keep secrets well, Thorin would know and...no. He shuddered a little at the disappointment he would see in his brother's eyes.

 "Ah, sorry, I should have thought of that." Hulda gave him an apologetic smile and smoothed out Nori's hair. The little dwarfling was clamouring to get up on her arm and she sighed, hoisting him up so he could nestle his head securely against her shoulder. Frerin suddenly felt very small and rather alone.

"I can see what I can find by listening around and asking a few people who might know? Covertly, of course," she hurried to add when she saw Frerin's expression.

"Thanks," he murmured, not able to look Hulda in the eyes anymore. She looked at him for a moment before putting Nori down on the floor again, telling him to run outside real quick and go and give his mother Róa the herbs that Hulda had been able to pick earlier. Nori was big enough to cover the distance on his own and there were plenty of eyes to look out for him in the settlement, secured as it now was by the big palisade fence right behind the stables.

Nori ran off with a little whoop - he was always excited when he got to visit Róa at her work place since she was usually very strict about who she allowed inside. Hulda watched him go with a smile, fingering the shaft in her hand before turning around to Frerin again.

"What makes you think of taking such a momentous step?" she finally asked.

Frerin reached up to scratch his head, remembering just in time that his hands were dirty and lowering them again. It wasn't that he hadn't thought about it, on the contrary - he had thought too much about it and the thoughts in his mind were a giant jumble of reasons and emotions that he wasn't able to sort through so quickly.

"I feel lost," he finally admitted, shrugging a little. "I see Thorin acting as if the position of king had always been meant for him, as if he had been born to do this and I see Dís rising above and beyond herself with how she is carrying herself and pursuing her duties. Next to them I feel...insignificant. As if I could never reach the heights they are at. And if I ever were forced to, I'd just burn up and fall."

"Is that because you don't want to do what your position demands or because you think you can't?" Hulda asked gently. Frerin placed on hand on the warm flank of the pony next to him, the feeling of the shaggy fur underneath his fingers helping to ground him.

"Both. Neither." He shook his head. "I don't know, I honestly...it's all just a mess."

"Then try and explain it to me." Hulda didn't tell him to sit down with her or came closer to hug him and Frerin was glad for it. He felt most comfortable where he was, leaning against the pony that was nuzzling at his neck, with fresh straw beneath his feet.

"It feels like every time I do something, I do it wrong or not enough. Sometimes I even want to do what I'm supposed to and am even looking forward to it, but then I do it and I think of Thorin or Dís or even father and how much _better_ they would have been at it than me and all the joy I had just disappears again."

"Do you think they think so too? Your siblings?" Hulda wanted to know. Frerin thought about it for a moment before frowning.

"No. No, they don't and it makes it _worse_. Because it feels like they are pitying me or just putting up with me because I am family and you are supposed to love those of your blood. They always try and make things easier for me and it's just...I want to be like them. Not being given handouts so that I can do the bare minimum." The words came faster and faster as he was talking, as if speaking had broken a dam inside him and a whole flood was following.

"Have you ever considered that not everybody _has_ to be the same? We have so many people in the settlement here, and everyone has different strengths and weaknesses. Why should you be the same as your siblings? Why would anyone _expect_ you to be?"

The answer to that was easy and came to Frerin's tongue so fast that he almost stumbled over the words.

"Because we are the royal family. Because we can't choose, we have to be what is needed for our people. Because everyone looks at us for guidance on what to do and if we don't do it right then everybody will be lost."

It was almost as if his grandfather were speaking through him or his father, or even Thorin; those words had been told to him again and again ever since he could remember, that almost stifling responsibility which they had for their people and the way in which they always had to put others first, never themselves. Frerin had always realised in the back of his mind just how stifling of a harness it was but only in the recent months had he felt like it was choking him. He didn't even know how his siblings were dealing with it, but they seemed to do so far more easily than him.

"And yet, even within the royal family, members of different talents are needed," Hulda reminded him. Frerin hated the gentleness in her voice, the way she seemed sympathetic that was almost pitying him. He had to forcible remind himself that this was not the case. "True, there are basic obligations everyone has to perform, but within that there is room for differences. What are the tasks that you enjoy the most?"

Frerin thought for a while, about everything that he had done so far and what had truly brought him the most joy.

"The planning," he finally said. "Not the stuff where we have to figure out agreements and sort out feuds and all that, but the practical planning with the engineers. I like it. Figuring out where to get resources from, schedules, the workforce needed..."

He hadn't even noticed how quickly the time had passed when they had planned out the reinforcing of their palisade fence, surprised when Thorin had come back in and dissolved the meeting because it had been time for dinner. Frerin hadn't even noticed his brother leaving in the first place.

"So why don't you ask for tasks like this more often?" Hulda suggested. Frerin had very clearly noticed that she had never denied his initial statement that he wasn't doing as well at other official functions. He wasn't even angry - reminding him that he had other strengths did more for him now than trying to talk away his failures. "It will prove your use when you think you don't have any and I'm sure neither Thorin or Dís will mind the extra help. Of course you won't be able to skirt the other tasks entirely, but it's a start, no?"

"It would be," Frerin admitted as he picked a piece of straw off the pony's coat and began turning it in his hands. "But I'm not sure I can-"

"You can't know until you ask," Hulda interrupted him with gentle firmness. The tone of her voice reminded Frerin so much of his mother that it hurt, a deep ache inside him that would never pass. "And no one else can do it for you."

"Yeah." Frerin fell silent as he kept turning the piece of straw between his fingers. When he looked up, Hulda was still there, waiting patiently. "You won't tell anyone, will you? About what I said earlier?"

"Of course not," Hulda smiled. "This decision is yours to make and not anybody else's to know about until you actually make it."

"Thanks," Frerin gave her a tentative smile back and he actually meant it. He gestured a little. "For staying and listening and, well...thanks."

Hulda nodded at him before stretching a little and dusting off her tunic.

"I better get back to work although I figure it will soon be too late. I guess I should see what Róa is up to and whether she'll be angry at me for sending Nori her way..."

Frerin grinned when imagining the reaction of Hulda's wife which was probably between adoring exasperation and amused annoyance. Róa had always loved her work with all the passion dwarrows were capable of, a love that was only shared with that for her family even though most of the time she tried to keep the two well apart from each other. Her concentration could usually only be given to one or the other, never both at the same time. That Hulda had sent Nori ahead towards her anyway only spoke about how much she had been willing to listen to and care for Frerin's plight.

 "Yes, probably best if you leave and free her from Nori's antics before half her tools will be missing again," he agreed. Nori seemed to love stealing tools and little treasures wherever he could, although most of it was rendered rather harmless by the fact that he then offered his treasures to the next dwarrow he met, full of pride in what he had managed to steal. Frerin had received more than one cookie or leather scrap that way.

"True." Hulda laughed, the sound full of fondness. She gave Frerin a little wink, asking once more if he needed anything else and when he shook his head, departing out of the stable door.

Frerin took a deep breath and looked around him, smelling the ponies in their boxes and the scent of fresh hay that had become as much home to him as the house he shared with Fundin's family and his siblings.  A small part of him would always want to stay here, with the ponies who seemed to accept and understand him better than he himself did and far away from anything that had to do with being an heir of Durin’s line. What he had told Hulda was true, he was still thinking about abdicating and leaving the royal family behind, but whenever he thought of such a decision he felt as if he was being a traitor to himself and his siblings who would have to shoulder even more responsibilities himself.

It was nothing that could be decided within days or even weeks and he decided to wait further – perhaps, one day, he would be able to finally reach a clear decision. For now it was enough for him to know that he had a silent supporter at his side, someone he trusted who he could share the load with. He had never realised that someone could be Hulda, but was glad that it was and he trusted her fully not to give away his secret. And trust her he did – Hulda had earned that from him at the very latest during their long days on the road.

The pony next to him snorted and Frerin laughed, burying his face in her mane for a moment before he emerged again with a smile on his face. Yes, he would keep on thinking. And trying to do what he did best and be of as much help as he could.


	51. Chapter 51

Dís had noticed that something was wrong with her brother.  She kept meaning to talk to Frerin, but there never seemed to be quite the right point in time for it and often enough she felt too exhausted in the evenings for a serious conversation when all of them sat together. She hoped that Frerin would come out with it eventually once he had mulled over the issue in his head for long enough - from experience Dís was aware that he liked to take his time thinking through things and it was little use attempting to rush him through it.

However, before any conversation could have taken place, their lives changed anew. It was late afternoon and Dís, Frerin and Thorin had been in a large council meeting for almost the entire day already when there was shouting at the entrance to the room and Bari, a young dwarrowdam who had just been allowed outside on her first guard shift a few weeks ago, came barging in, braids flying around her head and face drenched in sweat.

"Bari?" Thorin stood up from the table, frowning. Bari came up short, swallowed and did a quick bow - everyone regarded Thorin as their king in all but name now, Dís had noticed. It filled her with joy and pride in her brother.

"Prince Thráin has returned," Bari gasped out. The rest of her message was lost in between the loud murmurs and shouts from the others in the assembly. Thorin was the only one not moving, having gone as still as a statue.  It took him a while to shake off the stupor.

"Is King Thrór with him?" he asked as he began to gather his coat, already on the way out. Dís was right behind him, brushing his shoulder as she went past. Frerin looked ashen, caught somewhere between surprise and joy and a slight sliver of dread.

"No," Bari lowered her eyes, "But the others who left are with him."

"Thank you." Thorin nodded, dismissing the nervous dwarrowdam with a move of his hand. His steps were so fast Dís and Frerin found it hard to keep up with him without running. There was no chance for them to talk and Dís wasn't sure she would've wanted to either way - her own emotions were a storm right now she couldn't even begin to pick apart. Part of herself hated how her father's return didn't just fill her with happiness - at this point she hadn't actually expected him to ever return and the most dominant emotion she could feel was shock.

When they neared the palisade wall that marked the entrance to the village a throng of dwarrows had already gathered, excited voices buzzing through the air that quieted as soon as Thorin approached. An empty lane opened up between the spectators to let Dís and her siblings through until they arrived at the front of the crowd. Dís could feel her heart hammer in her throat as she watched the silhouettes approach on the road.

Her hand crept out in her brothers' direction before she could stop herself. Thorin remained stiff as a statue, outwardly composed and probably not even noticing her little slip, but Frerin glanced at her and before she knew it he had intertwined their pinkies as he used to when they were children and she had woken up crying after a nightmare in the middle of the night. She squeezed just a little and smiled when Frerin squeezed back, pushing aside the fear that it would reflect badly on them as the royal family should any outsiders notice.

Thorin strode forward when he recognised the form of their father, meeting him just as Thráin swung a leg off his pony. He bowed, offering Thráin the traditional words of welcoming absent members of family and royalty back to their home. Dís chest tightened as she stepped up behind him to say her part, especially once she noticed how weary and travel-worn everyone seemed. There appeared to be a stench of resignation and sadness hanging over them and she wondered where her grandfather was and if he was the reason for their desperation.

Frerin let go of her little finger as he said his words, ripping her back into the present. Thráin made a move as if he wanted to reach out for his children after they had exchanged greetings, but pulled back at the last moment.

"King Thrór has returned to the stone," he finally said, his voice like gravel.

Silence descended throughout the crowed, broken only by whispered words of Khuzdul to honour the dead. Dís lowered her eyes, a few verses leaving her own lips. If Thorin's posture had been stiff before then it was as solid and unwavering as that of a mountain now. When he spoke, he sounded as if he had aged several decades since the morning.

 "The king is dead. Long live the king!"

A roar rose from the assembled crowd, both expression of grief and fury, but also steadfast belief in the perseverance of their people, a sounds as old as the dwarrows themselves.

"Let us return to the village first," Thorin continued, making a motion as if he wanted to grasp his father's shoulder before abandoning it. "You can refresh yourselves and then we will reconvene to speak about everything that has transpired."

Thráin looked slightly taken aback by the authority in his son's voice, although he seemed too weary to protest for now. The two guards he had taken with him seemed relieved, as did Nár who seemed ready to tumble from his horse. Dís suspected they had been riding almost non-stop from wherever they had been, especially since the ponies looked at least as tired as their riders, if not more.

Frerin's thoughts had evidently been running along the same lines since he immediately grabbed the reins of his father's pony, whispering softly to it and leading it behind them as they walked into the settlement. One of his hands stayed in its shaggy fur and Dís knew he'd be going to the stables first instead of home with them. It hurt a little, the Frerin would shift all the responsibility onto them and only join later. There was nothing to be done about it, however and perhaps they would talk about it one day. Perhaps.

For now they followed their father home in silence, exchanging only a few words with the others as they left to find their paths to their own homes. Thráin disappeared into his bedroom without hesitation, remaining silent when Thorin knocked on his door to bring him some fresh water. He only emerged when it was time to go to the Assembly Hall, still rather withdrawn as he motioned Thorin and Dís to follow him. Frerin hadn't appeared yet, but Dís knew he would be there - even if he sometimes tried to evade his responsibility, she still trusted her brother to know when he was truly needed and this was one of those times.  

The hall was already filled with their people, the rumours of Thráin's return and Thrór's death having spread rapidly amongst everyone. Murmurs were filling the air like the soft rumbling of a waterfall in the distance although they grew quiet one by one as Thráin made his way through the crowd.

Dís and Thorin took their places at the front whilst Thráin stepped up on the dais with Nár and Oda next to him. Thráin took a deep breath and just for a moment, Dís thought she'd seen a glint of apology towards them in his eyes.

"We did not catch King Thrór and his companion Nár before they had reached Khazad-dûm," Thráin began after a short greeting and preamble. "When we arrived in the valley of Azanulbizar, beneath the Eastern Gate to our kingdom, we found Nár outside without trace of my father nearby. He told us that Thrór had ordered him to wait outside whilst he ventured into the stonen halls to take back his kingdom and that he had been waiting for days with no result, on the verge to enter himself."

Dís could feel Thorin shift next to her, saw him exchanging a quick glance with Dwalin. She knew that neither of the two would ever leave the other alone, orders or no - just as much as she knew that one day, just maybe, this might be their undoing. Nár had always followed his king's orders even at his own detriment and she wasn't sure that such unquestioning adherence to authority was the right way either.

"We made ready to set foot into our old halls when we heard a sound from inside. Before we could enter, a voice spoke to us. I will not shame these walls by repeating its foul words, but not long after they brought forward King Thrór's body."

Thráin swallowed audibly and Dís noticed the trembling of his hands that he had balled into fists. She thought she could see a glistening of blood where his nails were digging into his skin.

"They never gave us opportunity to recover the body, but I saw the letters etched into this forehead, the name of the foul creature who slaughtered him. His name is Azog and I vow that he and his spawn will taste the wrath of our people in retaliation for this. Our king may have returned to stone, but we will make those who did it bleed for their crimes!"

The last few words were a bellow, formed of grief and anger, a magnified call of the all the emotion Dís felt stirring insider her at her father's words. He didn't have to mention it but all the dwarves knew that Thrór's body had been left with the orcs and they all had seen what orcs did to those that were left behind on the battlefield. It stung, more than any other of the insults - every dwarrow had the right to be returned properly to the stone that they had come from and to have no body to perform the proper rituals with...the hurt it caused went deeper than just death itself.

"Does this mean we will go to war then?" Fundin's voice sounded through the room loud and clear. He had risen from his seat, the lines of grief clear in his face.

"Yes." Thráin's voice was just as firm and his eyes hard and cold. Dís knew what her father's rage looked like, but this frightened her more than she could say; she had never before seen him this cold and desperate, yet angry.  "We will not storm into it head first; we will send envoys to the other clans, ask for their help in avenging an heir of Durin. We will plan through the winter, will gather our strength and once spring comes, we will march upon the mountains and eliminate those who have dared to cause us such pain."

There was a hypnotic quality to his voice, a king who had just returned to his folk. It was the same quality that Dís had seen in Thorin in the past months, a spark perhaps of Durin themselves that had been passed down throughout time. He could have asked anything of the dwarrows assembled and they would have given it to him. And if it was war that he wanted - yes they would go to war for him and the royal family.

A roar went through the room at his words and Dís found herself swept up in it, although she could hear her brothers remain quiet. They had seen death and battle before and more than they had ever been wishing for and together with new loss and their father's sudden return it made for a frightening mixture that threw them all into turmoil. Thráin continued to speak, but Dís' thoughts wandered, already mentally beginning to plan the weeks and months ahead, categorising what would have to be done and how their lives would change once more.

"Is everyone with me?!" Thráin raised his arm, waiting for the room to reply. The answering roar was even louder than before and this time they all joined in, especially as the weight of Thráin's gaze fell onto his children.

The meeting was over quickly once the important things has been said - it was like a buzz was travelling through the assembled dwarrows, a buzz that would be taken home. Dates would have to be decided soon, the technicalities of a funeral for Thrór be decided and preparations be made. Dís knew that the households would be abuzz with talk tonight about what had happened and that there would be little sleep to be had anywhere. There certainly wouldn't be any in their own house tonight.

 "So we will be going to war again?" Thorin asked as they finally sat down for their evening meal.  

"Yes." Thráin tore off a piece of bread with such viciousness that Dís wondered what else might have happened on their long journey back across the Misty Mountains. "There is no other feasible way to answer this and reclaim our honour - the scum in our ancient halls has to be taught that it cannot act as it pleases and they have to _feel_ our wrath and anger. Perhaps that will teach these orcs a lesson that you cannot simply attack the mightiest of all dwarven clans without retribution. There is no choice here. Not for us."

A part of Dís wanted to stand up and shout that no, there was a choice - the choice to keep leading their lives and not tear down and endanger everything they had built so far, but she could feel it herself, the anger building up inside her chest, that dangerous mix of grief, hurt and damaged honour tucking at her heart, making her want to scream her lungs out and not simply accept that the orcs had been taking her loved from ones from her yet again. Family was her treasure and even if Thrór had not been of her own blood, everyone of  her people was like family in a way.

"Then we will do what has to be done," Thorin nodded. The emotion in his voice was indescribable although Dís thought she could hear an echo of her own confusing feelings in it, but wasn't sure. "Should I update you on the happenings in the settlement whilst you were gone?"

"Yes. It seems like they prospered under your rule." Thráin smiled a little. It surprised Dís that he had even noticed what state the settlement was in when he had arrived - he had looked tired enough to almost drop off his pony. "Although I would ask you to keep it short and go into more detail tomorrow once I have had some rest."

"Of course. It wasn't just my rule that the settlement prospered under thought - Frerin and Dís both did their parts as well and without them I never would have managed." Thorin quickly glanced over at his siblings. Balin, Dwalin, Varna and Fundin had withdrawn for the evening to eat together with Hulda's family - as Dwalin had whispered to Dís earlier, they hadn't wanted to interrupt their family reunion. Dís was grateful for it but also felt slightly deserted by them. She had come to be grateful for the buffer that they had oftentimes provided between her and her siblings and both Thráin and Thrór.

Her father's gaze followed Thorin's for a moment before he nodded.

"Of course." It was all he said, as if he didn't quite believe Thorin's words. Thorin looked slightly helpless as he launched into a much abbreviated tale of everything that had happened, making sure to play up the role that his siblings had played in all those events. Thráin listened, interrupting only occasionally with a few questions on his own, although the tiredness became more and more apparent on his face as time went on. He excused himself to bed almost as soon as Thorin was done with his tale, grasping his childrens' shoulders briefly before disappearing in a quiet gesture of apology and attempted comfort.

Silence reigned for a moment after Thráin had vanished into his bedroom before Thorin let out a long sigh and buried his face in his hands.

"Whatever I thought might happen today when I left the house, this was not what I had envisioned."

"Neither had we," Dís told him with a crooked smile.

"At least all the ponies came back healthy," Frerin murmured, his eyes on the table. Thorin began to glare at him, but only shook his head after a moment and reaching out, putting his arm around Frerin and pulling him close when his brother put his head on his shoulder. He knew how Frerin had meant his words.

"I wish they would've sent one of the guards ahead," Dís sighed, rubbing her eyes. "To have it drop on us so suddenly..."

"I know. I know..." Thorin held out his other arm and after a moment Dís moved closer, resting her own head on his shoulder. She could feel him kiss her hair as she closed her eyes. She didn't even notice at first when she was crying, but once it began she didn't seem to be able to stop. It wasn't the desperate-hiccuping-getting-no-breath sort of crying, but the slow and steady one that just continued on and on. She could feel her chest vibrating from it until she realised that those weren't her tears - it came from Thorin, from a thrumming deep inside his chest as he hummed one of their old childhood songs, the one their mother had always sung to them after nightmares.

In this moment they felt connected, perhaps more deeply than ever before. No matter what would happen to their family, the three of them would always stick together, would always try and be there for each other, no matter what else fate might be throwing at them.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm departing slightly from book/movie canon. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR Y'ALL here's is some cuddly Dworin that I thoroughly, THOROUGHLY missed writing.

The dwarrows were gathering for war. Thráin had sent out messenger ravens to all dwarven clans the day after he had returned from collecting the miserable remnants of his grandfather’s expedition to reclaim their old home. Replies were swift – a slight such as the murder of an Heir of Durin themselves was a stain on the honour of any dwarf and not one clan could have easily evaded the call of duty it represented, not when the king of the Longbeards himself was calling for their help in avenging his father’s death. Messaged were sent back and forth, agreements made, troop strengths and battle plans discussed as the snow fell heavier and heavier, cutting the settlements in Dunland off from contact with the rest of Middle-earth save by raven.

Dwalin watched as the settlement was nonetheless engulfed in the preparations for war, with weapon after weapon being smithed, fighting drills being held at double the rate than before and the tactical lessons for all potential leaders in battle become more intense by the day. Thorin’s expression grew heavier and heavier as time went on and he barely spoke a word at the end of the day, not even when huddled closely to Dwalin’s back.  He saw the same gravity in his own parents’ expressions, in the glances that Dís and Frerin were exchanging and in the way that Balin kept running his fingers through his hair and sighing when he thought that nobody could see him. He could feel it weighing down his own spirit, the thought of death and blood that would be spilled on the rock of mountains that had seen far too much of it already. But they labored on, knowing that there was no way out of the course that had been set for them until finally the night came that was supposed to be their last one before their army would leave Dunland and make its way up towards the towering columns of Khazad-dûm.

Everyone was spending this night in their own way but eventually, once all the planning had been completed and there was nothing else to be done, Thorin grasped for Dwalin’s hand and gave a quick pull in the direction of their bedroom as their fingers brushed. It was a bold gesture for him, especially in front of the others; they did not hide what had grown and flourished between them, but even after all those decades Thorin was still shy about expressing any of it too outwardly.

Dwalin followed as Thorin left the room, watching his braids sway slowly with each step as they ascended the creaking stairs that led upward. He had put some of them in with his own hands and his fingers twitched as they remembered the feeling of Thorin’s hair between them, its softness where it touched his skin and the implicit trust that lay in such an intimate gesture as braiding. Thorin took off his outer layers without a word when he entered the room, sighing with quiet relief when he had rid himself of his heavy cloak, tunic, belt and all other outer garments. Dwalin mirrored his motions until they both wore nothing but their undergarments – he didn’t even know who of the two of them was the first to creep under the blankets and furs that lay piled on their bed, a bulwark against the still lingering cold of early spring nights.

Still, Dwalin shivered a little before he flung his naked legs under the covers, pressing his cold toes against Thorin’s warm thighs. Thorin yelped, then laughed, pulling at Dwalin’s hair.

“C’mere you giant oaf,” he whispered, opening his arms invitingly until Dwalin had pressed his back to Thorin’s chest, Thorin’s arms wrapping themselves around him until their forms had molded together perfectly. Dwalin’s shivers ceased quickly in a strange reversal of their usual routine – usually it was Thorin who was always cold and Dwalin the one who radiated heat like a furnace in winter. Thorin said nothing as he buried his face in Dwalin’s hair, the tip of his nose digging into Dwalin’s neck. Dwalin could feel the rhythm of his breathing reverberating through Thorin’s chest into his own until they were in perfect synchronicity, breathing as if they were one huge single being.

“Do you think we’ll come back?” he whispered after a while, his fingers intertwining with Thorin’s. Thorin shifted, the hair on his chest scratching softly against Dwalin’s back.

“I don’t know.” Thorin’s voice was muffled by Dwalin’s hair, but Dwalin could feel the heat of his breath on his neck and hear the words well enough. “I hope we do. We _have_ to. It can’t just end here.”

“No, it can’t,” Dwalin agreed. He turned, careful not to jostle Thorin too much. His One’s eyes were bright and clear, reflecting the light of the big candle on the nightstand. Dwalin reached out, grasping a few strands of Thorin’s hair and carefully putting them back behind his ear. Thorin leaned into the touch of his fingers, closing his eyes for a moment as Dwalin’s fingertips stayed on his face, trailing down his cheek towards his chin before touching his neck ever so lightly.

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid,” Dwalin rumbled softly. Thorin’s eyes opened again as his hand closed around Dwalin’s.

“As if you’re one to talk,” he countered, a note of laughter dancing in his voice. “I bet it’ll be me who’ll have to hold back _you_ more often than not.”

“Oh shush,” Dwalin laughed back, “you’re by far the more reckless of us. Just ask your siblings. Remember that time you got stuck in a tree and we had to rescue you because you were too scared to come down? I never did that.”

“Excuse you, it was a very high tree,” Thorin sniffed indignantly. “And _you_ are the one who cried because he couldn’t find the way out of the caves beneath Erebor. I had to take you by the hand and lead you back out.”

“I was twenty. Of course I was terrified. You, on the other hand…you were in your thirties when the tree thing happened.”

Thorin made a sound that lay somewhere between another snort and a laugh, a spark dancing in his eyes. “If you’re really serious about making a list of reckless and ridiculous things we’ve done when we were younger, we’ll be here all night.”

“Och, there are worse ways to spend the night…” Dwalin let the sentence trail off meaningfully. Thorin smiled, moving a little press a kiss on the back of Dwalin’s hand, their fingers still intertwined.

“And a few better ones, don’t you think?” he replied to Dwalin’s soft teasing. His fingers squeezed Dwalin’s hand slightly. Dwalin felt a smile stretch over his own lips, especially when Thorin snuggled closer to him, drawing their hands to his chest.

“And what would those be?” he asked, unable to stop himself. Their banter had always meant home to him and in the last weeks there had been little to nothing of it with the clouds of impending war hanging so low over their heads. This little playfulness between them made his heart smile.

“Hm, I don’t know. Maybe…” Thorin laughed, a soft and deep sound that originated somewhere deep in his belly. He drew Dwalin’s hand to his lips again but didn’t stop with a single kiss this time, drawing a line of them down Dwalin’s arm until he arrived at the fabric of his undergarment. “…something like this?” he finally finished his sentence, smiling fiendishly when Dwalin looked slightly flustered.

“Oh. Yes. Yes that’s…much better. Yes.” Dwalin brought out, his skin still tingling from Thorin’s touch.

“You’re a master of words, as always.” Thorin teased mercilessly, his fingers dancing on Dwalin’s skin as they made their way forwards underneath the heavy fabric.

“If you wanted a poet you should’ve tried to fuck my brother,” Dwalin mumbled, shivering again as Thorin buried a bellowing laugh against his chest.

“I think your brother has emphasized multiple times how disinterested he is in anything like this,” he grinned. “I’ll have to make do with you, it seems. Such a shame.”

“Ha,” Dwalin snorted. “Well, I hope you don’t find yourself too disappointed…”

“You should give your best then. Make sure I’m fully satisfied. Or I might try and file a complaint.” Thorin, once he started teasing, was as merciless as ever with both his words and his body. Dwalin mumbled a quiet curse under his breath at the things that he managed to make him feel even with his clothes on.

“Oh, no, we can’t have that,” he finally agreed as he helped Thorin to unlace his undertunic and pull it over his head. He had barely freed himself from the confines of his own clothing when Thorin already made a hungry noise in his throat and pulled him close, his fingers tugging at his hair and beard.

Dwalin mumbled something unintelligible, growling quietly as he felt Thorin’s nails digging into his skin. There was a note of desperation slowly replacing the initial hunger and sweetness in their love making this night, causing them to attempt and hold on even more tightly, be even wilder with what they were doing, as if with enough passion they could just stop time and make tomorrow never happen.

Thorin sighed deeply as Dwalin pressed his face in the crook of his neck, Thorin’s chin resting on the top of his head. They were still firmly intertwined, the heat lingering between their bodies as the sweat slowly cooled in the slightly chilly air. Dwalin mumbled something into Thorin’s skin, attempting to cuddle up even more closely although it was barely possible. He had little idea how much time had passed since they had gone to bed or how long it was until they would have to get up and leave the place they had turned into their new home over the past decades. All he knew was that he didn’t want to fall asleep, wanted to enjoy every lingering second that Thorin was here beside him in such a way.

“We should try and get some sleep,” Thorin whispered, pressing a kiss on his head as if he had read his thoughts.

“Don’t wanna,” Dwalin grumbled, the breath from his words tickling Thorin’s throat and making him laugh. “Wanna stay here with you.”

“You’ll still be here with me even when you’re asleep,” Thorin pointed out. Dwalin could almost see his eyebrows rising in gentle mockery. Dwalin grunted and punched him lightly.

“You know what I mean,” he said. Thorin laughed again, a soft sound in the darkness that had descended after the candle on the nightstand had gone out.

“I do,” he confirmed, his fingers drawing trails over Dwalin’s backside. The tone of his voice changed as he quickly sobered up again.

“Wouldn’t it be nice though, staying here with just the two of us, in a night that never ends?”

“That doesn’t sound like you,” Dwalin snorted skeptically. There was a pause on Thorin’s side and Dwalin began to regret his words before Thorin spoke again.

“No, I supposed it doesn’t,” he said, a note of faint regret lacing his voice. “But nonetheless, in a different world and different time, it would be nice.”

“Mhmmm.” Dwalin shifted slightly, burying the fingers of one of his hands in Thorin’s hair and combing them through until he reached his head. The strands seemed to remain soft no matter what Thorin was doing throughout the days and weeks and Dwalin loved wrapping them around his fingers, feeling the fine hair against his skin. From experience he knew that Thorin loved few things more than feeling Dwalin’s fingers gently massaging his scalp.

“Maybe, one day, we’ll find that solace,” he suggested softly after a while. He could feel Thorin pressing his head against the pressure of his fingertips.

“Unlikely,” Thorin said, “but perhaps. Perhaps everything will turn out well and we will finally find some peace again.”

There was a note of longing in his voice that was all the stronger for the darkness surrounding them. The night often gave shape to what lay hidden throughout the day and whenever Thorin’s thoughts tumbled out in ways that Dwalin didn’t expect it was when they were alone and should long be asleep.  

“And if peace doesn’t come to us we’ll just have to create it for our own,” Dwalin replied, his fingers still drawing soft circles all over Thorin’s scalp. Thorin shifted slightly and hummed under his breath in momentary pleasure, pressing another kiss onto Dwalins’s skin.

“Easier said than done,” he sighed but the note of dread that had so often found its way into his voice recently was lacking as he was still completely relaxed. The night did not only serve to reveal, but sometimes also to protect, to allow their dreams to flourish and act as buffer between their wishes and reality. Where it stoked their anguish at times, made things seem darker than they really were and fears larger than life, this time it served to mellow out the darkness that lay in their thoughts of the future and everything that might happen to them.

“Imagine it, though,” Dwalin continued, nuzzling Thorin’s throat with his lips. “A nice hut somewhere like here, the people of our folk happy and safe, plenty of lil’ pebbles to secure the future, a prospering little kingdom…happiness.”

“Mhmmmm that would be nice,” Thorin agreed. “And when I come home my One is there for me lounging naked on the furs of our bed?”

Dwalin nearly choked on his laughter at Thorin’s unexpected amendment of their happy future.

“I have work too, you know,” he protested, “I’m not just here to pleasure you.”

“You aren’t?” Thorin asked with gentle mockery. Dwalin could hear the suppressed laughter in his voice perfectly well.

“It _might_ surprise you, but no, I’m not,” Dwalin snorted, digging his teeth into the soft skin of Thorin’s throat, just a little, until he could hear a pleasant little groan from Thorin.

“Now, that’s just mean,” Thorin murmured. “That’s blackmail, in fact.”

“Anything, if it convinces you to remain at my side,” Dwalin said, his thoughts derailing again in the erratic manner that seemed to be the signature of this night. Thorin was quiet for a moment, knowing exactly what the meaning behind Dwalin’s words truly was.

 “I wish I could promise you,” he finally said. “I’m sorry.”

Dwalin sighed, not knowing if he should push any more.

“Promise me,” he finally whispered, as the memory of the rotten smell of corpses flooded his nose. For a moment he thought he could still feel the wetness of blood on his hands. “Do it for me, please.”

Thorin shifted again, moving around until he was able to grasp one of Dwalin’s hands and fold his fingers into his.

“I promise,” he said, so quietly the words seemed to remain just between them, not floating into the darkness of the night around them. “I promise, Dwalin. I’ll stay by your side.”

 _In this life and the next_ , Dwalin’s mind supplied, in line with the ancient vow. However, it was still far too early for that – he knew the rumours circulating amongst the settlement, that the crown prince and temporary king had been with his partner for decades now and that, after all customs, a marriage should be imminent – since Thorin had different things on his mind. There was no doubting his devotion to Dwalin, not ever, and Dwalin would never dare give such doubts any weight. Instead, as Thorin had told him once, he would refuse to marry until their line had an official heir, a topic that his family never talked about openly but that was always hovering above their heads.

“And I by yours,” he whispered back, intertwining their fingers from where they had been curled up in Thorin’s hand, trying desperately not to imagine them lifeless and covered in blood.

Thorin hummed something under his breath, too soft for Dwalin to make out the words. He shifted again so that Dwalin was pressed against his chest with his back once more, their bodies slotting together so perfectly as if they had been made for it. Dwalin slowly felt himself drifting off into the land of dreams, securely in Thorin’s arms for one last night before the grim spectre of war would be haunting their steps again the next day.

He was half asleep when he heard Thorin singing under his breath like he had done so often recently to dispel the fears of their people, of his family and those he loved.  

“I love you,” Dwalin mumbled sleepily, half hoping that Thorin wouldn’t hear. The quiet words stopped for a second, interrupted by a rumbling laugh that reverberated through Dwalin’s back.

“Go to sleep,” Thorin said quietly, kissing his neck and resting his lips on his skin. As Dwalin sank deeper into his sleep he thought he could the soft rumble of Khuzdul travel from Thorin’s lips to his body.

“Me too. _Amralizu.“_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amralizu - I love you.


End file.
